


Crescent.

by Listenerofshadows



Series: Howl. [1]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Blood, Food mention, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Graphic Violence, Platonic LAMP - Freeform, Profanity, TS Storytime Big Bang 2018, Urban Fantasy, Virgil just needs a Nap, Werewolf AU, anxiety attack tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 16:55:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15800724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Listenerofshadows/pseuds/Listenerofshadows
Summary: "He wanted to cry hysterically. He wanted to howl. He was going to die, and all the mugger would receive for his efforts was a $5 dollar bill and a debit card to an empty bank account."Virgil’s just one of many kids who aged out of the foster care system. He was kicked out of the foster house with little to nothing to his name yet expected to be a functioning member of society. He makes enough just to get by working at a fast food restaurant with the manager from hell.In a rush to get home after a bad day at work, he takes a short-cut through an alleyway and his day goes from bad to worse when he's confronted by a mugger.Fortunately, he is rescued by a werewolf who happened to be passing by. Unfortunately said werewolf decides he needs protecting and wants Virgil to be a part of their pack.





	1. Virgil's very bad, awful, horribly no good day

**Author's Note:**

> Wow. It's so weird to finally be sharing this story with the world. What started as a simple short story grew into something so much larger than I could ever imagine. 
> 
> Thank you to the Mods over at ts-storytime on tumblr for putting together the big bang event. I don't think I would've ever wrote this much without the encouragement from everyone. I was paired with the artist finiteframe3 on tumblr and they created some awesome art for this fic! 
> 
> Thank you to @iamsilentwolf on Tumblr for giving the push I needed to pursue this story as well as beta'ing this first chapter. 
> 
> Thank you to @Acantha_Echo who beta'd almost all eight chapters within the last couple days leading up to this posting date. You're the real MVP and I appreciate you being there to catch my grammar/spelling errors as well as point out plot discontinuities.
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Self-deprecation, anxiety tw, food mention, insomnia, profanity
> 
> With that, onwards! To the story!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crescent (/ˈkrɛsənt/) is a symbol or emblem used to represent the lunar phase in the first quarter (the "sickle moon"), or by extension a symbol representing the Moon itself. 
> 
> For Werewolves, a crescent moon represents growth and creativity. It is when seeds are sown and ideas are acted upon. In their culture, a crescent moon is viewed as the beginning of the moon cycle.

Virgil’s stomach grumbled as he walked through the city, weaving in and out of the bustling foot traffic. His lithe stature came in handy at slipping through the crowd when an opportunity presented itself.

 

He had always been good at slipping through the cracks - it was his specialty in life. He was just one of many kids who aged out of the foster care system. He was kicked out of the foster house with little to nothing to his name yet expected to be a functioning member of society.

 

Virgil understood it. No one wanted a teenager that comes prepackaged with problems and memories of a former family. They all wanted sweet babies or small children too little to understand what is happening. They wanted children who can fit into their lives perfectly like a puzzle piece. Not children like him who were the wrong puzzle piece to their set. There was nothing worse than trying to jam a puzzle piece where it didn’t belong.

 

“Hush,” he murmured, both to his grumbling stomach and to his mind conjuring unpleasant thoughts.

 

Virgil hadn’t eaten since last night. He didn’t have time for it, not after he slept through all five of his alarms for work. On top of that, he received only a few hours of sleep after his roommate insisted on blaring his seventies disco music for most of the night. At least when Virgil listened to his “emo” music, he had the decency of a human being to wear headphones.

 

He didn’t mind the lack of food nor sleep, he was used to it. Virgil could handle that. His appetite often deserted him, and sleep was a fair-weather friend - only choosing to stay when the mood suited it. Perhaps he was a tad more snappish than normal, but it was what people expected of him at this point.

 

They saw him sporting shirts for bands like MCR, along with his general all-black attire and immediately assumed he hadn’t grown out of his angsty, edgelord preteen stage. _Of course_ , he would be also be a moody and antisocial young adult.

 

It was work that was hell. Well, more hell than usual. No one willingly worked a minimum wage job flipping burgers at Kirby’s Burgers at Second Street and Newbound Dr. unless they were desperate. The location was always busy, being juxtaposed in the middle of the city and the local university. Virgil didn’t mind the busyness, it helped the day fly by. He blinked, the day was gone and he was falling into his bed, into the loving embrace of his purple fleece blanket.

 

No, it was his manager screeching at him every time he messes up the slightest bit that got to him.

 

Virgil’s manager could walk up one day and announce she was the incarnate of the Devil himself and he wouldn’t blink an eye. Especially after her reaction today when he accidentally spilled hot oil from the fryers all over the floor and onto his fingers.

 

One of his co-workers was kind enough to guide him to the faucets to run his fingers under cold water and get the first-aid kit for him. He could hear his manager in the distance, ordering another person to clean up the mess, her voice hoarse from yelling insults at him. His kind co-worker had just finished wrapping his fingers in band-aids, when the manager strolled up and pulled him into the back.

 

“Are we going to have a problem?” His manager asked, her voice invoking the imagery of cough syrup.

 

“Wh-what?” he gritted, hissing in pain when he tried clenching his hands into fists.

 

“Virgil, you are a valued member of the team, but I can’t just ignore the fact you came into work half an hour late - and you made a mess with the fryers - putting us behind in the middle of a lunch rush.” She drummed her fingers against the table as she spoke

 

Virgil took a deep breath, trying to will the tears away that appeared on the corners of his eyes. He wanted to bite back about the number of hours he works each week—how today had been the first time in six months since he arrived late at work. He wanted to yell about how his mess-ups are significantly lower than that of some of his fellow co-workers. Most of all, he wanted to throw his cap on the ground and call it quits. But he couldn’t.

 

He needed this job, despite how hellish it was at times. He was barely making ends meet as it was - even being unemployed for a week or two would be devastating to him.

He didn’t even have time to go searching for a different job. When he wasn’t working, he was too exhausted to do anything but lie on his bed, listen to music and scroll listlessly through Tumblr. Either that, or sleep when it finally returned from its wanderings to hold him in its soothing arms. Sometimes all he wanted to do was ignore the world and sleep. Then he’d get a nightmare and avoided sleeping for two days straight.

 

“I’m sorry,” He finally spoke, avoiding her eyes, “It... It w-was a mistake, it won’t happen again. I’m so sorry.”

 

He hated how he stumbled over his words in an attempt to please the woman. The manager smirked and he suddenly felt like a medieval peasant groveling at the feet of an evil queen.

 

“I’m sure it won’t,” she hummed, “I know your shift ends in two hours, but do you think you can cover Nancy’s shift? She called in sick.”

 

Virgil froze, stuck in a position where he couldn’t say no. As much as he needed the money, he was willing to trade away the potential cash for sleep. But he was in her debt - she had accepted his apology, and he now owed her a favor. If he didn’t say yes, she’d take offense to it. How dare he say no to a little favor after she let him off easy?!

 

“I-I can do that,” he said, biting his chapped lips.

 

“Great, I knew I could count on you!” the manager’s eyes gleamed, “Now get back out there - those burgers aren’t going to flip themselves!”

 

She laughed, each cackle reverberating against Virgil like a knife stabbing his chest. Virgil managed a weak grin before stumbling off to his position.

 

He did his best to ignore the pain flaring up in his fingers. Things were a bit better when the same co-worker from before took pity and demanded they switch jobs.

 

“Gurl, this ain’t right. Those burns looked serious - you should’ve gotten the day off, maybe go to the hospital or something,” Remy looked at him, his eyebrow raised. Virgil enjoyed Remy’s company the most out of all his co-workers. They shared similar tastes in bands, with Virgil living vicariously through Remy’s first-hand accounts of his experiences at their concerts. Remy often pushed Virgil to try attending the concerts himself, once even offering to cover his ticket.

 

Virgil couldn’t do it to him. He knew that Remy was a student at the local university, saddled with student loans to worry about. He didn’t want to add to his burden - he liked Remy too much for it. He tried not getting to friendly with Remy, however. He could tell that he wasn’t going to be sticking around the restaurant for much longer.

 

“I can’t,” Virgil shook his head, “I just can’t afford to have a day off - or go to the hospital for that matter.”

 

Remy sighed, “At least take over register for me. You’re going to burn your fingers again or something with how much you’re shaking.”

 

The manager didn’t say anything about the switch. Although by the end of his shift, Virgil had noticed suspiciously that he didn’t get a break. It didn’t matter at that point.

 

“It’s okay,” he tried reassuring himself, “I probably would’ve fell asleep anyways. At least this way she didn’t have to yell at me again.”

 

He wearily gathered his meager belongings before heading out. He did not have enough money to ride the subway on a daily basis, leaving walking as the only option. He walked on the sidewalk, trying to do his best to keep his eyes open.

 

“Watch out!” A voice called out, pulling Virgil back into the present. He skidded to a stop, just avoiding collision with a thirty-something mother and her gaggle of children.

 

“Watch you’re going next time!” the woman huffed as she guided her children away.

 

“Sorry,” Virgil mumbled under his breath, putting his hood over his head.

 

He was sweltering underneath the hoodie, but he didn’t care. There was no way he was walking out in public with his puke green Kirby Burgers employee shirt. Not to mention he found the hoodie comforting - it was the last gift that was given to him by his parents. The fact he could still fit in it was one of the few blessings of his short stature. While others shot up like beanstalks in high school, Virgil remained at a cursed 5’4.

 

As he made his way back to his apartment, one thought that keeps pulsing through his mind. _I gotta get home._

 

His fingers were on fire, his head were on the verge of imploding, and his legs were screaming from having to support his weight for hours at a time. All he can think about is diving underneath the covers, turning up his music on his headphones, and pretending the outside world didn’t exist until his next work shift.

 

Even with weaving in and out of the crowd, there was still many bustling bodies on the sidewalks. Virgil would very much like to scream and knock them over like they’re bowling pins, and he’s the raging bowling ball. But he couldn’t do that, even setting aside societal rules for a moment, because he was 5’4 and all skin and bones. He was all too aware of the fact that he looked like a wind could knock him over. He felt like it, too.

 

Eventually, he got trapped behind a group of teenagers and there was nowhere for him to cut in front of them. As his frustration grew, he spied an alleyway. He had been around the city enough to know that it cut across the city to an alternative route to his apartment.

 

He stopped abruptly, causing the people behind him to bump into him angrily. Muttering a quick apology, he quickly stepped off to the side, into the entrance of the alleyway. It was always a bit risky going down an alleyway like this - muggings are common in lonely, deserted places. But it wasn’t like he used this shortcut all the time; just this once and that’d be it.

 

He was three-fourths of the way through the narrow passageway when something moved, and he found himself tripping over something solid and his hands reach out to catch him—

 

Virgil screeched in pain and a hand quickly clasped his mouth.

 

“Shhhh,” an unknown voice murmured as something clicked against his head. A gun.

 

Virgil tried screaming again - this time in fear, but the stranger’s hand muffled the noise. All that came out was a whimper.

 

“Now, now, there’s nothing to be afraid of. As long as you hand over your wallet, no harm will come to you,” the voice crooned.

 

He didn’t hand over the wallet. He stayed frozen as his mind malfunctioned. He knew he shouldn’t have gone this way. Dammit, he knew better - alleyways were always where bad stuff like Batman’s parents getting murdered happened. He was so stupid— He couldn’t breathe— Oh god he’s going to die— Ohgodohgodohgodohod _ohgodohgodohgod-_

 

“Hey kid!” the mugger growled, digging the gun further into his skull, “Just quit shaking and give me my damn money already!”

 

All he can focus on was his breathing. The air coming in through his nostrils wasn’t enough. He tried breathing through his mouth, but the mugger’s hand prevented him from getting enough oxygen. His breaths kept cutting off as another one starts before the other can finish.

 

It wasn’t until the mugger starts counting down, that the spell was broken.

 

“I’m give you until count of five to hand over the money before I blow your head off,” the man instructed, “Five.”

 

Virgil’s eyes snapped open. He can’t die - not like this.

 

“Four.”

 

His hands rose from the ground, haltingly.

 

“Three.”

 

They trembled as he brought them towards his hoodie pocket.

 

“Two.”

 

He couldn’t grab ahold of his wallet. The band-aids and the sweat combined with the shakiness of his hands kept him from getting a firm grip. He wanted to cry hysterically. He wanted to howl. He was going to die, and all the mugger would receive for his efforts was a $5 dollar bill and a debit card to an empty bank account.

 

“One.”

 

This was the moment where the mugger shot Virgil. He could tell by the way the mugger adjusted his hold on the gun that he was about to shoot him. Virgil closed his eyes, and briefly wondered what getting his head blown apart by a bullet was going to feel like.

 

He didn’t get to find out, because something growled, a low menacing sound, and a foreign force barreled into the mugger, releasing his hold from Virgil. The mugger screamed, and the gunshot went wide to hit the side of a building.

 

Virgil didn’t get a chance to see who his savior was, because as soon as he hit the ground, everything felt dizzy and oh god, he felt so nauseous. The smell of iron in the air didn’t help matters.

 

His eyes were heavy, his head fuzzy, and his body decided that taking a nap on the cold cement ground of an alleyway sounds like an excellent idea.

 

As his vision blackened, he faintly heard a worried voice call out, “Are you all right?!”

 


	2. Earth To Virgil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Out of everything that occurred in Virgil’s short lifespan of twenty years, getting mugged in an alleyway after a hellish day at work ranked among the top ten worst experiences of his life. It didn’t belong anywhere in the top five, however. Virgil’s life was a series of unfortunate events, one of which was his weak immune system.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Sickness, vomit mention, blood, mild violence

Out of everything that occurred in Virgil’s short lifespan of twenty years, getting mugged in an alleyway after a hellish day at work ranked among the top ten worst experiences of his life. It didn’t belong anywhere in the top five, however. Virgil’s life was a series of unfortunate events, one of which was his weak immune system.

If someone so much as sniffled on him, he was sure to be sneezing up a storm the day after. As a kid, his peers often told him he was so “lucky” that he got sick often, because it meant he didn’t have to go through the drudgery of school. Virgil never understood that line of logic. There nothing fun to be have when you were in the throes of sickness. Virgil preferred to be at school than lying in bed miserable all day along. Not to mention the mountain of homework that awaited him when he was healthy again.

As his parents’ first and only child, his parents constantly worried over Virgil’s health, taking him to the doctor’s office for even the most minor of coughs. As they became more experienced parents, they learned to relax, although they kept him from home when they felt like the sickness called for it.

Eventually when he hit fourth grade Virgil grew tired of being kept at school. He was tired of missing out on things. He was tired as being known as the sick kid. He was tired of people whispering behind his back, saying he must be faking sickness to get out of school. That was when he decided one day to try hiding how awful he truly felt to get out of having to stay at home.

He managed to keep it up until he threw up in the middle of gym class. He ended up being escorted to the nurse’s office, as a few kids snickered behind clamped hands. Others just stared in mixed horror and disgust, their noses scrunched up at the pungent smell of vomit.

“Honey, why didn’t you tell me you were feeling bad?” His mother asked, brushing his bangs off to the side.

Virgil buried his head between his knees. “Be—because you would’ve made me stay home and—and I wanted to go to school.”

“Oh Virgil,” She reached out, pulling him onto her lap, “I know being in bed all day isn’t fun—but you need to rest in order to feel better. If you try ignoring being sick, you’ll only feel worse. Promise me you won’t do that again, okay?”

“Okay mom,” Virgil mumbled, pressing his head underneath the nook of her neck.

For a while, Virgil heeded his mother’s words. He had learned his lesson—it had been awful pretending that he felt fine when in reality he felt like a human furnace. The humiliation from the gym incident only helped persuade him from attempting it again. The other kids liked to tease him and call him names like Vomit-face. The teachers told Virgil to simply ignore them.

“They’re just trying to get a rise of you.” They said.

No one wanted to sit with Virgil during lunch after the incident. That was fine with Virgil—he still had his loving parents who doted on him and the neighborhood kids to play with. Sure, they never wanted to be around him at school. But they still allowed him to tag along in games around the neighborhood! Besides, few people sat with him even before it happened. He was too withdrawn and shy and absent from school to really connect with anybody.

Everything was fine until his parents died, forcing him to be ripped apart from his neighborhood friends and into a foster home several hours away. They were probably the one of the kindest foster family Virgil ever had. Just like many things in life, Virgil ruined it. He didn’t want them, regardless of how loving they were to him.

He wanted his parents—they couldn’t have possibly be dead. This had to be some sort of nightmare or a cruel practical joke. Any moment now, he was certain they’d slam open the door and take him back home, back to the neighborhood where his friends were. He burned bridges with the foster family with too many cruel words and acts of defiance.

Later, he’d looked back on it and saw how incredibly stupid he’d been to deny them. Later, he’d try to rectify his mistakes and try to find some family fit in. Later, he’d learned that it was too late, that no one truly wanted to adopt teenagers. But back then, he was too mad at the world to care.

He came to his second foster home, prepackaged with the label of a troublemaker. A delinquent intent on breaking the rules for the hell of it. Instead of what he truly was; a broken child grieving the loss of his parents.

It was the first day of his sophomore year that he felt the first waves of nausea hit him. His foster parents waved it off as Virgil trying to get out of attending school. Even as the symptoms started to get progressively worse with each passing day, they saw him as only pretending to be sick. They yelled at him to knock it off.

It wasn’t until the school nurse diagnosed him after he fainted in the middle of English class that they took it seriously.

After that incident, Virgil grew hesitant to reach out to his foster parents whenever he felt a cough coming on. He found it easier to tolerate being sick and attend school regardless of his condition. He only approached his foster parents when the situation worsened to the point of no longer being manageable on his own.

When he turned eighteen and became responsible for all his expenses, he couldn’t afford a trip to the doctor’s office. Nor could he take time off from work to recover without falling behind in his bills. His managers didn’t care if he came into work with pneumonia as long as he showed up for his damn shift. Anything less than a walking corpse was acceptable by their standards.

His lack of decent sleep and poor diet only worsened his weakened immune system. Virgil was stuck in an endless drudgery of work, sleep, work that seemed to stretch out into oblivion. He knew it was no real way to live—but it was better than the streets. Anything was better than the streets.

Virgil barely lasted a week the one time he tried taking his chances on the streets rather than the system. He turned up at his foster home, bloodied and bruised after a group of teenagers thought it’d make for great entertainment to harass the homeless kid.

This was why he wasn’t surprised to find himself at work despite his body feeling like Thanksgiving turkey that had been left in the oven for too long. He was in the middle of flipping a burger when his hazy mind cleared up enough for him to question how long he’d been at work. How did he get here? Wasn’t he supposed to have the day off? Did his manager somehow guilt trip him into covering another shift?

He tried racking his brain, but his mind was too fuzzy to recall anything except…the alleyway. Unconsciously, Virgil reached up to feel the back of his head to attempt feeling the bruise that was surely left behind from the gun. Nothing.

Virgil groaned, rubbing his eyes. Had that simply been a fever dream concocted by his mind? Or he already died and gone to hell, eternal damnation in the form of working in the fast food industry for the rest of his existence?

“Earth to Virgil,” Someone snapped their fingers in front of him.

He looked up to see Remy smirking at him, hands placed sassily on his hips.

“Man, it must have been some wild party last night,” Remy commented, taking his bedraggled appearance, “I cannot believe you didn’t think of inviting me!”

Virgil rolled his eyes. It was a private joke between the two to coming up with ridiculous reasons for the other’s fatigue. Virgil wouldn’t be caught dead at a party, even if he could have the time to attend. Large bodies of strangers made Virgil anxious. It was why he was often stuck in the back because he couldn’t be trusted not to freeze up in front of customers.

“Sorry, I didn’t think you’d be the type to enjoy ABBA blaring out of a stereo at 3AM.”

“Bold of you to assume that ABBA isn’t an icon that transcends all passage of time.”

An alarm blared, diverting Virgil’s attention away to the fryers where the French fries bubbled in the oil, golden-brown and crispy.

Virgil picked up the handle of the tray, moving to dump the fries into the basket and salting them. That was what he intended on doing. He wasn’t sure what happened. One moment he was lowering the fries into the basket, and the next moment the French Fries were scattered all over the ground as his manager screamed in the distance.

“Why is he here?” His manager hissed, jabbing a finger into Virgil’s chest, “He needs to leave now.”

“It was a—” Virgil started, “a—"

_ “It was an accident. It won’t happen again!” _ Virgil wanted to scream. But he couldn’t. His words evaporated at the sight of the fury burning in her eyes.

“He shouldn’t be here.”

“He needs us.” Remy said, stepping forward with an uncharacteristically solemn expression.

“He needs to leave!”

A gunshot went off, and the patrons in the restaurant screamed, falling underneath the tables for cover. Virgil whipped his head to see a man standing in the entrance with an old-fashioned pistol smoking in his right hand.

“He’s not going anywhere.” The man spoke, aiming the gun at Virgil’s head.

Virgil knew that voice—it was the mugger in the alleyway. Had that been real? Maybe the mugger was a deranged madman that hunted down Virgil, angry that he managed to get away without handing over his money. Or maybe the mugger shot him in that alleyway and this was all a part of some absurd coma dream.

This time, he swore he was going over his wallet to the man. He reached his hands into the folds of his hoodie pocket, finger fumbling blindly for it. Nothing. He patted his jean pockets, turning them inside out to reveal laundry lint, but no wallets with $5 and a debit card to an empty bank account.

The mugger cocked his gun. Virgil looked up at him, frantic.

“Please—”

BANG.

Virgil screamed, his throat burning. His vision was blurred by the onset of tears and his body ached all over like a herd of elephants stampede over him. He attempted to sit up, but something held him back.

“Breathe.” A voice commanded, “You’re awake now.”

“Wh—” Virgil wheezed. He hadn’t realized until this moment that he was hyperventilating. Where was he? Was he back in the alleyway? In a hospital? His mind was like a broken television set where all the channels were full of static.

The voice sighed.

“Breath in for four, hold for seven and breath out for eight.” It instructed.

Virgil had no choice but to listen to it, too tired to think clearly. It took a while before he managed to regain control over his breathing. He kept struggling with breathing out to a count of eight rather than releasing it as fast as possible.

“Good.” The voice commented, sounding more pleased with itself than Virgil’s own efforts.

Virgil craned his neck up, trying to get a better look of the owner of the voice. That proved more difficult than he’d imagined as the only light source in the room belonged to a nightlight. But even its soft glow was too bright for his sensitive eyes. The only thing he could determine was that the figure wore glasses based on the night light reflecting off the lenses.

“Wh—” He tried again, this time erupting in a coughing fit.

“Please, drink this.”

The figure placed a cup of water to his lips and Virgil drank it without protest. Once the cup was empty, the figure took it away.

“I might as well take care of this while I’m here,” They grabbed ahold of one of Virgil’s hands. He tried pulling away, but he was too weak to resist their grip. He withheld a whimper as they started unwrapping something that was around his hand.

“Wh—what are you doing? What’sssgoingon?” Virgil’s words slurred together.

“I’m changing the bandages on your hands so that it doesn’t get infected any more than it already has.”

Well that didn’t really answer his question. He should’ve been more specific, but he barely had the energy to think, let alone speak.

“Who—who are you?” He mumbled, hating how he could no longer keep his eyes open.

“Logan.” They finally acquiesced, before looking down at him, “What’s yours?”

Virgil, however, already fell once more asleep, this time in a dreamless slumber. It appeared that his name would be a mystery to Logan for a little while longer.

Logan finished up rebandaging the man’s hands and threw the old bandages into the trashcan by the bed. He exited the room, making sure to shut the door behind him quietly.

“How is he?”

Logan nearly jumped out of his skin as he turned around to face Patton.

“He awoke—briefly,” He added, holding out an arm to stop the other from bouncing into the room, “He’s asleep now. It may be awhile before he breaks his fever, but he should be fine.”

“Oh thank you so much, Logan!” The other squealed and Logan allowed himself to be swept off his feet in a joyous embrace.

“Yes, well,” Logan adjusted his glasses once he was back on the ground, “Just remember this is only temporary. We can’t keep strays, Patton. Especially strays like him.”


	3. Heart Made of Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Shhh,” He said, “You’re safe now.”
> 
> The human unconsciously leaned into the touch, completely relaxing in Patton’s hold. The werewolf’s heart melted even further. If Patton’s heart was a popsicle, it was now a puddle of sugary sweet liquid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: blood, violence, arguing

To be fair, Roman wasn’t surprised when Patton came home a stray in tow. Patton had a heart of gold—there wasn’t a mean bone in his body. He cried easily. He cried when a girl and her dog got separated in a movie, and he cried again when the two were reunited. He couldn’t bear passing by a downed bird, injured and all alone. It was why they now had a flock of ravens that took shelter within the confines of their yard.

Roman knew it was always hard for Patton to let go of the strays after he nursed them back to health. He grew attached to their presences, loved them like they were his own children. But he also knew that they couldn’t really care for pets with their type of lifestyle beyond the wild animals like the ravens that just wouldn’t leave. However, that was alright. A flock of ravens were considered good luck among werewolves.

So the ravens stayed, whilst the others were sent away. Logan always did his best to help situate the animals into loving homes. It made Patton feel better knowing that they went to owners who’d care for them just as much as he did.

What he was surprised about was the…species of the stray Patton brought home.

He heard the door click open, as he worked on his canvas. He didn’t bother glancing up. He didn’t need to use his nose to know it was Patton entering their humble yet magnificent dwelling. It couldn’t be anyone else, but Patton as Logan didn’t get off work this early, and there wasn’t anyone else who had a key to the house.

“Hey, padre!” He greeted, frowning as he redrew the eyes of his sketch, “Did you complete your quest to obtain the chocolate chip cookies with the extra chocolateyness?”

“Oh my goodness,” Patton gasped, “I left the cookies back in the city!”

“What happened? Did you get sidetracked by a baby squirrel again?” Roman chuckled.

He expected Patton to launch into some excited ramble about the cute poor animal he came across, or perhaps amazing scent trail that derailed him from his errand. But instead Patton seemed hesitant to share information.

“Not…exactly.” Patton admitted.

“What do you mean?” Roman finally looked up.

Instead of the kitten or baby bird that Roman expected to find, there was a stranger in Patton’s arms. Small and thin and pale in baggy black clothing. His first thought that must be another werewolf—Patton wouldn’t dare bring a human here, would he? But Roman took one sniff and knew immediately.

There was no mistake about it; Patton had brought a human into the home.

“Patton why is he here?” Roman growled, “He’s a human!”

The older man pressed his lips together, walking past Roman to lay the human on the couch before facing him once more.

“He was in trouble, Roman! He—he was all alone and I couldn’t just leave him—” Patton drew a breath, “Please, let me explain.”

-

To be fair, Patton did not mean to go sniffing out for trouble. He only meant to go sniffing out for cookies after another botched attempt at creating them. As much as he loved making food in the kitchen, baking was not his strong suit. Logan said it was because he wasn’t exact with his measurements. Patton didn’t see how adding more sugar could ruin the recipe that much. He only wanted to make the cookies sweeter, and what’s sweeter than sugar itself?

It was alright though, because that just gave himself an excuse to visit Thomas. He let his nose take all the way downtown to the Piece of Cake bakery. The bell jangled as he bounced in, grinning around at the pastel interior of the bakery. He took a deep breath in, letting the sweet scents of the desserts invade his nose.

“Hi Patton! What’ll it be today?” Thomas asked, giving a friendly wave from his place at the counter.

“Thomas! It’s so good to see you!” Patton squealed, reaching over the counter to give the man a hug.

The man let out a surprised yelp, but eagerly returned the hug just the same. He learned by now that Patton often to forgot to ask before he invaded people’s personal spaces in his rush to lavish them with affection.

“Opps sorry,” Patton gave a bashful grin as he withdrew from the hug, “I was just excited to see you! It’s been so long since I’ve seen you!”

“Patton, it’s only been like three days,” Thomas laughed.

“I know, but still.” Patton pouted.

The two made friendly conversation as Patton picked out his order. It wasn’t until another customer came into the bakery that the two exchanged their goodbyes, and Patton made his departure.

He hummed cheerfully, swinging the bag of cookies with each stride. Occasionally at intersections he took a moment to open the bag and smell the delicious sugary delights. Chocolate Chip, Snickerdoodles, Sugar Cookies—the scents tickled his nose with glee.

Patton loved scents—they often told the truth more often than someone else’s words or his own eyes could. He was happy he could always trust his nose when his other senses failed him. He couldn’t imagine not being able to smell! He’d rather give up his sight or his hearing than not being able to smell the comforting presences of his packmates.

Once, Logan revealed to him that humans couldn’t smell as well as their kind. Patton cried for fifteen minutes straight after that.

“Why are you crying?” Logan asked, awkwardly patting Patton’s back, “Humans’ sense of smell may be feeble compared to ours, but they have been able to survive just fine with it the way that it is. Besides, it is not as if they know the difference.”

“Exactly!” Patton sobbed harder, “They’ll never know how—how wonderful smell is.”

Logan sighed.

“Would it help any to say as a former human, that I now know how wonderful a heightened sense of smell can be?”

“A little.” Patton sniffled.

The crosswalk switched from an angry red hand to the cute walking stick figure that signaled it was the pedestrians turn to walk. The crowd surged forward, a few people bumping into Patton’s shoulder as they passed by him.

“Oh!” He looked up from the bag, spying the crosswalk signal. He covered up the bag once more and hurried across the crosswalk.

It was a long walk to the outskirts of the city where Roman, Logan and Patton lived, but he much preferred it over taking the car. As much as he enjoyed driving, he didn’t enjoy that thick traffic that left him antsy in the seat knowing he could walk faster than how fast the car was crawling across the interstate. When there wasn’t traffic clogging the streets, the car whipped by faster than Patton’s liking.

He took the idiom “stop and smell the roses” literally. Patton enjoyed walking because of the journey. He loved hearing the chatter out of the bustling city, the wind rustling his hair, seeing the various sights that the city had to offer. Not to mention the smells. While some scents like gasoline could be nauseating to smell, there was scents like—pizza. Greasy breading baked with tomato sauce and cheese with a variety of toppings. His stomach grumbled in agreement.

As if in a trance, Patton’s feet led him in the direction of a nearby pizzeria. It wasn’t until he was a block away from the restaurant that he realized how far off he deviated from the walk home. He needed to walk north, not inwards towards the heart of the city. As much as his mouth watered for pizza, he already prepared a delicious meal at home. He would have to save pizza for another day. Perhaps he could even make homemade pizza! He hadn’t tried that doing that yet.

It was hard to suppress his urge to chase after every wonderful scent that infiltrated his nose, however. The closer he came towards home, the more overwhelming it became. When Patton had been younger, it was harder for him to ignore the urges to chase after the scents. Flowers, perfume, the smell of Asian food wafting in the air from a nearby restaurant—it enticed and overwhelmed him.

He chased the scents, curious to see where they led. Often, he found himself in trouble from sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. After spending his childhood largely isolated from the human world, he had been ignorant of appropriate manners among humans. For example, humans often took offense if you smelled them. Whereas werewolves had very little sense of personal space. Something that could be found inherent in Patton by how he heaped affection on people within five seconds of meeting them.

Patton knew better now. He recognized he couldn’t gleefully chase each scent without abandon. He had a responsibility to look after the needs of the others. If Patton didn’t remind the two workaholics when to eat, he wasn’t sure who else would.

_Gotta focus, gotta focus, gotta focus._ The mantra ran through his mind repeatedly. He opened the bag of cookies once more, taking a deep whiff to remind himself of his mission. The rich chocolate, cinnamon goodness and fear reminded him that he can’t wait to share them with the others—wait.

Patton paused in the middle of the sidewalk, causing the person behind him to grumble in frustration. Fear? That can’t be right. That scent doesn’t belong with a cookie but rather—a living being. He scanned the bustling crowd who traveled down the sidewalk as usual. The scent of increased perspiration clung to the air, how could the humans just ignore it? Could they not smell it?

He didn’t stay put to find out. There’s no question in his mind whether if he should not follow this scent. His heart pounded, as he dashed after the scent. He trusted his nose to lead him to the source.

“Opps, Excuse me! Sorry!” He called out, apologizing to disgruntled pedestrians as he tore through the foot traffic. His large, hulking figure was perfect at plowing through the crowd—no one wanted to get trampled by a 6’2 man.

He skidded around a corner, the scent leading him to the entrance of a winding, dark alleyway. There lay a sight that angered him. A large burly human held a gun against a smaller one, who shook badly from terror.

Patton let out a low growl, too upset to say anything intelligible. His claws came out as he launched himself at the mugger, tearing him away from the small human. A shot rang out from his gun, and Patton could only hope it didn’t hit the human on the ground. The mugger attempted pointing his gun towards Patton, but he ripped the weapon out of his hand and onto the ground.

The mugger made a frantic scramble after it, but Patton pinned him to the ground. He sunk his claws into the man, and only let go when the man went limp.

He breathed in deeply, forcing himself to relax. His instincts screamed at him to remain on guard. But the danger had passed, and he needed to make sure the small human was okay. He was ignorant of a lot of things about humans, but he did know they could be easily frightened by his more wolfish appearance. The last thing he wanted was to scare the poor guy even further. As soon as he morphed back into a humanoid appearance, his focus went immediately to the small human—his eyes widening in concern at their collapsed figure.

“Are you alright?!” He called out as he rushed to their side. Their head lolled backwards, signaling that they had gone unconscious.

A surge of protectiveness took over him as he immediately gathered the human in his embrace. He can’t help but marvel over how small and fragile the human looked! He must have been the runt in his litter. The human wore a raggedy black hoodie and ripped jeans with scuffed up converse. His face was too thin to be healthy, and those circles underneath his eyes! If the poor thing didn’t faint from fright, he certainly fainted from exhaustion.

He gasped upon seeing the bandages wrapped around the human’s hands. The skin underneath looked red and swollen, indicating it was a fresh wound. The human’s hair was glistened with sweat. Patton pressed a hand against his forehead and nearly flinched at how warm it felt. He shouldn’t feel this warm…humans shouldn’t feel this warm, right?

Patton snuck a glance towards the mugger, and immediately withheld the urge to vomit. The wounds looked deeper than Patton had initially thought and although the mugger was still breathing, it might not be for long. Patton was a lover not a fighter. The thought that he could be this man’s cause of death was haunting. But as he looked back down at the runt, he didn’t regret it. The mugger had threatened an innocent life, and Patton wasn’t going to stand there and watch it happen.

That was also the reason why he couldn’t just leave the human, alone and unconscious, in the alley alone with the bleeding-out stranger that tried to kill him. If someone came across him, he’d be an easy meal. He had to take the human somewhere safe. The only thing is, Patton had no way of knowing where he lived. He had no way of tracking down his home. It was nearly impossible to distinguish a scent from the hundreds of millions of aromas existing in the city air.

A scream interrupted his thoughts. Patton looked up to see a woman staring from the entrance of the alleyway, covering up her mouth in horror. Patton’s mind came to a screeching halt as his instincts screamed a singular command at him. _Run._

This was not a time to attempt explaining the situation. His nerves were shot, and he was afraid of what was going to befall on the human. Would the other humans see how sick and small he was and attempted to finish what the mugger started? He couldn’t let this small human go through any more pain than he already had. Not now he was here. He scooped up the human in his arms, sprinting into through the sidewalks of the city.

He ran as fast as his feet would carry him, afraid that police sirens would be after him at any moment. Patton was fast, but not fast enough to outrun a car. Especially while carrying the human, despite how worryingly light he was.

Patton, being paranoid, took detours—attempting to throw off any would-be pursuers off his trail. When he finally reached the porch of the house, he almost collapsed from exhaustion. The human let out a cry in his sleep, and Patton stroked his hair.

“Shhh,” He said, “You’re safe now.”

The human unconsciously leaned into the touch, completely relaxing in Patton’s hold. The werewolf’s heart melted even further.  If Patton’s heart was a popsicle, it was now a puddle of sugary sweet liquid.

As he sat on the porch, the human lying draped across his lap, he started to realize that Logan and Roman probably wouldn’t be happy with this arrangement. But Patton wasn’t going to abandon him, even if he was a human!

Which was why, he was now pleading to let the human stay with them.

“Please Roman, he needs help, I couldn’t just leave him all like that!” Patton begged, “Please don’t tell Logan—not yet, at least.”

“Tell Logan, what?”

Logan stood in the door frame, arms crossed as he stared down at the unconscious form of the human on the couch. Patton gulped.

He did not look happy.

“Hi Logan,” Patton chuckled nervously.

“What is he doing here?” Logan gestured to the human, “He shouldn’t be here, Patton. Do you remember what happened last time we let a human in our house?”

“This—this is different,” Patton insisted, “He needs us!”

“He needs to go!” Roman burst, clenching his fists.

Logan turned to look at Patton.

“Explain.” He said, and Patton did.

He repeated the same story as he had with Roman, with a few occasional interruptions by Logan who reminded him to stick the facts and not stray off into tangents. Once he finished, Logan sighed and pinched his nose between his fingers.

“So, what I’m hearing is that you panicked and weren’t thinking straight.”

Roman snorted. “Patton doesn’t think straight—ever.”

“I couldn’t just leave him all alone like that! What if he got attacked again?” Patton huffed.

“You could’ve left him at a police station or taken him to the hospital if you were worried about his health.”

Now that he thought about it, those might’ve been better options. Logan had always been good at figuring out more rational solutions to problems than Patton. But it didn’t change the fact that the tiny human was here now and needed their help.

“He needs a pack, Logan. And I know you know how to care for sick humans!”

Logan raised an eyebrow, “Patton, humans are social creatures, I’m sure he has packmates of his own who are concerned by his disappearance. There’s also no telling how he would react once discovering our true nature. We should take him to the hospital.”

Patton frowned. He hadn’t taken in consideration that the small human might already have packmates. If he did, Patton didn’t think they were good packmates based on the human’s malnourished appearance.

“We don’t have to tell him about the pack. But we can’t just leave him alone in the hands of strangers, Logan! We should care for him until we find out where his packmates are.”

Roman glanced between the two like a child observing an argument between their parents unfold in front of them.

Logan said nothing, reaching downwards to feel the human’s forehead.

“His temperature is unusually warm,” He noted, “We should take his jacket off—to help cool down his temperature.”

Patton’s eyes widened.

“Does that mean—”

“Yes, he can stay,” Logan said before clarifying, “only until he’s no longer ill.”

Roman’s eyes flashed angrily.

“Wh—”

“Patton, can you go prepare the spare bedroom for the human?” Logan interrupted.

“Of course!” Patton beamed as he scurried out.

As soon as Patton left the room, Roman turned to face Logan.

“Do I have no say in this?” Roman spluttered indignantly, “Am I the only one who thinks this is a bad idea? It’s a human, Logan. A. Human.”

“A human who is physically weaker, underfed and feverish compared to us. While it would be optimal to take him to a hospital, you and I both know about how attached Patton gets to…strays. I theorize he’s able to pack-bond more easily with other species than us.”

“Look, I don’t want to hurt Patton’s feelings as much you do, but we should put the safety of the pack first.”

“I did consider the safety of the pack in my decision making. This is a compromise—we’ll look after the human for long as he’s sick in exchange for Patton promising to return him to his friends and family,” Logan explained, “Who knows? The human might even want to leave early.”

He walked towards his study before turning to glance back at Roman.

“Make no mistake. I know how dangerous humans can be; I was once one myself, Roman, and I have no intentions of harboring the delusion of keeping one in our home any longer than necessary.”

* * *

 

(Chapter Art done by [@finiteframe3](https://finiteframe3.tumblr.com/post/177415438115/my-ts-big-bang-art-based-on-the-amazing-story) on Tumblr!)


	4. Patton's Pet Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil wasn’t entirely convinced he hadn’t died in that alleyway, his whole life worth a grand total of $5, and ended up in some strange purgatory. It wasn’t every day that one woke up to an apex predator snuggled up close to them like a teddy bear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Sickness, vomit

Virgil wasn’t entirely convinced he hadn’t died in that alleyway, his whole life worth a grand total of $5, and ended up in some strange purgatory. It wasn’t every day that one woke up to an apex predator snuggled up close to them like a teddy bear. Well, maybe it was common among people who chose to live off-grid in the wilderness somewhere. But for Virgil, who spent the entirety of his life in urban settings except for the occasional jaunt to a camp site, it was not what he signed up for in life. He was content to limiting his encounters with wildlife to minor annoyances such as squirrels, birds and raccoons.

The first thing he noticed waking up, aside from the fact he still felt like crap, was that he wasn’t in his apartment. He noticed this from the light streaming in from through the cracks of the window blinds.

Virgil didn’t have window blinds in his apartment. He couldn’t afford them. Instead he duct-taped a blanket around his window—blocking all rays of sunlight from entering his bedroom. He preferred it that way—he didn’t even use his overhead light. After a long day at work, everything was just too bright and loud for Virgil to handle.

Even the tiniest of things set him off. He found that keeping his room a dark cavern where he could escape into helped matters.

The sunlight was also an indication that it was no longer nighttime—though he couldn’t say if was the morning directly after or an eternity later. He had a few snatches of images but nothing else. They were too fuzzy and distant for Virgil to discern if they were actual memories or just dreams. It was why he hated being sick—it turned his mind into a pile of mush. His perception of time was screwy—well, more screwy than usual. He was used to weeks feeling like months, and months feeling like weeks. He’d blink, and it’d be Christmas. He’d blink again, and barely a day passed.

It was right about this time that he realized he wasn’t alone in the room. Something shifted beside in the bed, and he froze. He looked down, seeing that the pillow underneath his right arm was not in fact a pillow but a living, breathing wolf.

Upon a first glance, one might’ve assume it was a husky. It was a reasonable assumption to make, as no one expects to find a wolf in their bed, in the same manner that no one expects the Spanish Inquisition. But the fur was too muted, a barrage of different shades of greys draped across a creamy white coat. A wolf’s head was larger, and its’ snout elongated compared to a husky. Not to mention how massive the wolf was! The length of its’ body equaled Virgil’s height.

Virgil always thought wolves were cool, ever since he watched Balto as a kid and connected with the wolf-dog’s dilemma of being outcasted from society. Back in middle school when he had more time on his hands, he drew a bunch of melodramatic, crappy comics about wolf packs filled with cartoonish blood and gore.

However, he never truly understood why people feared wolves until he discovered a wolf nestled in the nook his arm, its’ enormous head resting peacefully on his chest. He’d always imagined them to be around the size of huskies or Labradors, not this monstrous size. Suddenly people fearing a pack of wolves tearing them apart limb from limb terrifyingly made sense in his mind.

Or why people feared the idea of humans who could turn into wolves even more. His teachers taught how supernatural creatures like werewolves and vampires were monsters without a shred of humanity left in them. They were diseased humans who needed their suffering to be put to an end.  His parents, however, spoke with him in private. They made him promise to be wary but polite to any supernatural being he happened across. He had yet to come across one—supernatural sightings were few and far between. People whispered that soon that might not be any left.

Still, he used his left hand to pet the wolf’s fur. He ran his fingers through it, trying to determine if it was real, or just another absurd fever dream. Maybe he should try pinching himself next, snap out of it before the dream ended up with him getting mauled to death.

Something rough like sandpaper collided with his cheek, and Virgil jerked his hand away. The wolf’s eyes were open, brown as molasses, as its’ tail thumped against the bed. It seemed…excited to see him, akin to a dog seeing a human they adored. For a moment, Virgil wondered that maybe he was wrong. Perhaps it was a wolf-dog or a gigantic mutt of some sort.

But then he saw the sharp incisors resting beneath its’ tongue and the huge paws with sharp claws and retracted that thought. Without giving much thought, he attempted pulling away from the wolf. Where, he didn’t know, nor did he think hard on how he could escape out of the room alive. It wouldn’t take much the wolf to maul him where he laid. He was reacting to the fear pumping through his veins, demanding him to flee from the situation.

A paw pushed against his chest and the wolf let out a low, guttural growl. Virgil complied, immediately lying back on the bed. He closed his eyes tight, heart pounding in his ears, awaiting death for only the second time this week. His stomach felt queasy—but whether it was from fear or from illness, he didn’t know.

The bed shifted, and the box springs creaked as something launched itself off the bed. The warm fur of the wolf was gone, and Virgil cautiously opened his eyes to see the wolf standing in front of the bed. Its head was at eye-contact level with Virgil. It glared at him, giving the equivalent of a “I’m watching you” look.

Satisfied that Virgil wouldn’t attempt leaving the bed, the wolf turned and trotted out the door. Virgil let a breath of relief, as he sat forward. He didn’t leave the bed; out of the fear he’d become wolf’s chow the moment his toes touched the floor. That, and the fact he was extremely lightheaded. Really, he just wanted to curl up into a ball and die already.

That wasn’t what he truly wanted, however. He wanted the warm, comforting embrace of his parents. He wanted his mother to whisper words of encouragement into his ears and his father telling corny jokes to make Virgil laugh. He wanted them more than anything else in the world. Every time he thought he finally accepted their deaths, he found himself swept back into the grieving process all over again.

No, he couldn’t afford to do this right now. He needed to focus. Was this real life or just fantasy? How he could test that? Virgil swallowed. He’d never been a lucid dreamer—able to determine dreams from reality and take full control of where his dreams took him. His dream was a roller-coaster; he was just along for the ride to whatever heights and plunges they shaped up to be.

People didn’t feel pain in dreams. Or at least that’s what movies taught, anyways. Characters always pinched themselves to make sure they weren’t dreaming up whatever absurd fantasy existed in the story. Like waking up in unfamiliar room beside a wolf for example.

Virgil dug his nails into the flesh of his arms—pressing as hard as he could. A small sharp pain sprouted in the area, and Virgil withdrew his hand. He stared at the half-crescent shape on his arm from the pinch, watching it slowly fade. He took a long, deep breath. He wasn’t dreaming, at least if the fact you can’t feel pain in dreams was correct.

_ You can’t always trust what you see in movies, you know. _ A small thought nagged at him.

He ignored it, choosing to search around the bedroom for more clues. There were more signs that could be used to indicate if he was in a dream or not. Reading words and numbers were impossible in dreams.  It was a small spare bedroom clearly used for mainly storage as indicated by the piles of boxes off to the left-hand corner of the room. The walls were a bland beige color and barren of any paintings or photographs. Directly facing Virgil was the window with the previously mentioned window-blinds. There was a closed door left of the window, presumably leading to a closet. In front of the closet door was a tall, brown bookshelf full of books, with cat knickknacks scattered across the shelves.

The book titles were horizontal, causing Virgil to tilt his head sideways to get a better look of their names. It was mostly full of classics like  _ Moby Dick, 1984, Frankenstein _ —every book that Virgil grew to loathe during high school. The fact he could read them further cemented that this wasn’t a dream.

But what about telling time? There weren’t any clocks hanging up on the walls. Fortunately, he happened to glance down at the nightstand to find a digital clock. 10:32AM.

He could feel pain, read words, and tell time. Still, he couldn’t help but be paranoid. There was two ways people expected to leave a mugging, and that’s either in a body bag or without their wallet. Did the mugger decide to kidnap Virgil, and if so why? Was he a part of some kind of human trafficking ring?!

Voices erupted in the hallway outside the door, and Virgil glanced anxiously at the doorway. Their voices were to too hushed for Virgil to discern what was being conversed. He wanted to call out to them, demand what was going on. But he thought of the wolf and the words refused to come out. The voices quieted, as footsteps drew closer to the door.

“Hello!”

Virgil flinched as a grown man bounded in like a rambunctious golden retriever. The man was tall—Virgil would be lucky if he came up to his shoulder height. He wore a light blue jacket with white pompoms attached to the strings of the hoodie. Black cats decorated the bottom half of the jacket, giving Virgil the sinking suspicion that he was the one responsible for the cat knickknacks in the room. Along with the jacket, he wore a simple pair of gray pants. His eyes beamed at Virgil from behind a pair of round-shaped glasses.

Another man followed him into the room, looking much like an exasperated parent with their hyperactive five-year-old. They almost looked like twins with the same glasses and similar brown hair, if it wasn’t for the fact he was a few inches shorter than the first man. Not to mention his jaw was more angular and his physique was slimmer compared to the other’s. He reminded Virgil of a teacher based on his attire; a black polo with a blue tie complete with black slacks and shoes. It was hard to discern the expression on his face, but Virgil felt a shiver down his spine all the same.

“Hey.” He croaked, narrowing his eyes.

“Oh! I’m so happy you’re okay!” The first man squealed, rushing forward to gather up Virgil in an embrace.

The man never heard of personal space, apparently. Virgil yelped, caught in the man’s strong hold.

Teacher Dude just sighed, face-palming at the other’s antics.

“Patton, just—stop it, you’re scaring him,” He reprimanded, placing a hand on Patton’s shoulder and guiding him off Virgil.

Virgil’s eyes widened. He recognized his voice as the one who calmed him down after that awful nightmare. Logan, was it?

“I’m sorry!” Patton exclaimed, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment, “I just got excited and forgot how scared and confused you might be right now.”

Damn right he was scared and confused. Not that he was going to show it openly to two strangers who may potentially be his kidnappers, however.

“What happened to the wolf?” He demanded, crossing his arms.

“What wolf?” Logan asked, tilting his head to the side quizzically.

“I woke up and there, um there was this huge-ass wolf lying beside me. I thought I was dreaming—still kinda actually.”

Logan shared a terse look with Patton, who sheepishly broke eye-contact and muttered a soft “Language.”

Virgil didn’t have much time to read into the nonverbal exchange as Logan cleared his throat and said, “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, as it would too unwise to keep a wolf as a pet considering their status as an undomesticated wild creature. That was simply Patton’s pet dog. He has a bad habit of being overly friendly with strangers.”

A look of hurt briefly flashed across Patton’s face before he broke into a smile.

“Yeah. I—he didn’t mean any harm, I promise!”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Virgil shrugged.

“You’re not as freaked out as I expected you to be.” Logan said as he pressed his glasses closer to the bridge of his nose.

“Like I said I’m still not, uh, convinced that this isn’t a dream—” Virgil sneezed.

“Bless you.” Patton said.

Virgil sneezed once more.

“Bless you again!”

“Here,” Logan handed Virgil a box of tissues, “and I assure you that you’re not dreaming, though I do admit this is an unusual situation.”

“Thanks,” Virgil blew his nose, “care for an explanation?”

Logan hesitated, “How much do you remember leading up to waking up here?”

Virgil huffed. He gave a bare bones summary, cutting back on the profanity when he saw it was upsetting Patton. Once Virgil had finished recounting, Logan adjusted his tie.

“Patton was your rescuer. He saw what was going on and knocked your attacker unconscious. He then went to check up on you and noticed you were feverish. I have to apologize on Patton’s behalf, his heart was in the right place, but he has a habit of making decisions without thinking things through,” Logan explained, “Instead of calling the cops or taking you to the hospital, he panicked.”

“I was worried,” Patton bit his lips, “I didn’t want to you unconscious and alone after what happened!”

Virgil sympathized with the guy. Hell, it sounded like something he’d do. Often Virgil became so blindsided with panic that all rationality went out the window. He was grateful that Logan hadn’t been the one to find him; Good Samaritan or not, hospital bills were the last thing Virgil wanted to deal with.

“As I said, you could’ve taken him to the hospital or the police station.” Logan gritted his teeth before glancing over to Virgil, “We can take you to a doctor’s office if you’d like—”

“No, thank you.” Virgil interrupted, his tone cold and biting. No way did he have money to cover an appointment let alone the medication. He groaned, clenching his stomach. He still couldn’t tell if it felt weird from his anxiety of the situation or because he was sick.

“How long has been since…”

“Tuesday?”

“Yeah, Tuesday.” Virgil coughed.

“It’s been about two days—you’ve been in and out of it, but I don’t think you remember in your feverish state of mind. I’ve been making sure you’ve been drinking fluids and keeping your bandages clean.” Logan informed.

“Two days.” Virgil repeated weakly, shutting his eyes. Two whole days—it meant he missed two whole shifts without at least calling in. He was most definitely fired from his job.

“Are you alright?” Patton asked.

Virgil cackled, which quickly snowballed until a coughing fit. He was far from okay.

“Not really,” He replied, “Being sick sucks, you know.”

“Hey, it’s alright if you want stay with us until you get better,” Patton chirped, leaning forward on the balls of his feet.

Virgil blinked. What, seriously? He’d expected they would simply throw him out of the house as soon as he regained consciousness. They’d established that his existence in their home was a panic-fueled mistake. Who took care of a completely random sick stranger? That just didn’t happen.

“We’d understand it if you’d prefer it if we dropped you off at your home.” Logan spoke up.

“But really, it’s not a problem if you wanna stay!” Patton added excitedly, “I mean, uh, until you’re better of course!”

As much as he preferred the comforts of his own room—Virgil’s not looking forward to having to deal with the roommate. Interacting with the guy while he was sick just added another headache on top of things. Not to mention, he did not want to come to his roommate with the news that he was most certainly out of a job. But he didn’t want to be an unnecessary burden to a bunch of random strangers. He could see it in Logan’s eyes, he wanted Virgil out of here as soon as possible.

“Thanks, but I don’t want to be a burden to you guys—”

“I promise you’re anything but that,” Patton interrupted.

Virgil opened his mouth before quickly clasping his hand over it. Logan shoved a trash can beneath his mouth, and he immediately retched into it. Yup, definitely the sickness’ fault. Or maybe a combination of the two working together in cahoots. It didn’t matter at this point, he was too exhausted to care.

“I’m just—I’m just going to take a nap.” Virgil groaned, burying his head into his pillow.

“That’s perfectly fine,” Logan said softly, “Rest and hydration is important in overcoming illnesses.”

Huh, that was the nicest Logan had been to him so far. Who knew it took Logan seeing him vomit to gain an ounce of sympathy from him.

“We’ll let you get some rest then.” Patton said, as the door closed quietly after them.

Virgil knew he should be worried about his job. He should be worried about how he was going to pay for stuff like his half of the apartment rent. He should be worried about staying in a strangers’ home in such suspicious circumstances.

But right now, he was wonderfully void of all worry. It was a false sense of peace, to be sure. As soon as his mind became less fuzzy, the worry would come rushing back like an over-flooded dam. But for right now, it was loveliest feeling in the world.


	5. The Tale of the Homines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Once upon a time, there were no werewolves,” Roman began ominously, grinning as he heard the collective gasps of his audience. Their eyes were the size of saucers.
> 
> “Nor were there vampires or magi or even selkies! There were only the beings that would become to be known as humans, known as homines. They existed in a world already populated by other beings like dwarves and giants and the fae folk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Vague threats, blood, violence

Roman was not a heartless monster. Like Patton, he couldn’t walk by an injured bird without feeling pity for it. Logan, on the other hand, could stroll by the bird without a passing thought. He’d state it was best to let nature run its course.

“All things die, Patton,” Logan said once, as he comforted Patton after he attempted to save a dying Robin, “It would’ve died regardless if you tried to help it or not. It was too far gone.”

“I—I know that,” Patton gave a rueful smile, “But I had to at least try to save him—at the very least he didn’t die all alone on a cold cement, terrified of what happened to him.”

Logan’s hand on his shoulder tightened. A look was shared between the two of them and Roman had a feeling that Patton wasn’t just talking about the bird.

“And I am sure he is grateful for your actions.” Logan choked.

There it was again—another vague reference to the two’s shared pasts that they refused to tell Roman. Patton said it was Logan’s story to tell and Logan refused to even speak about it. Most Turned Werewolves didn’t like talking about their pasts.

Roman cleared his throat, “He’s in a better place now, padre. I bet he’s having the time of his life in the Heavens!”

Logan withdrew his hand from Patton’s shoulder as the other stood up, sniffling.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re right kiddo!” Patton beamed down at Roman.

He really did love Patton. The other werewolf practically became a second father to him after what happened. He had a heart for anyone and everyone—Roman just never expected that anyone and everyone to include humans. Sure, Patton spoke kindlier of humans than Logan and Roman would in a million years—but that’s because he’s Patton! He cares too much than he should.

Well, alright. Maybe it wasn’t quite a surprise for Patton to bring home a human after all. Roman just wished Patton thought with his brain a bit more than he did with his heart. As much as he loved the werewolf, he wasn’t sure how he managed to survive before he met Logan. Roman didn’t get along well with Logan, but privately he knew many of Logan’s plans saved their hides in the long run.

However, he really didn’t trust Logan’s plan this time around. The longer the human stayed in their dwelling, Roman grew more and more agitated. It was to the point he could no longer concentrate on his art commissions. He marched right into the spare bedroom, prepared to do—well he wasn’t sure exactly what, but he wasn’t going to let the human harm the others on his watch!

As he stared down at the human’s sleeping form, he tried viewing the human through the lens of Patton’s perspective. He tried seeing him as just another hapless creature in need of assistance. But instead all he saw was a gaunt, weak human that could rival a vampire in terms of paleness. Had they made sure to check for fangs? If there was anything worse than a human, it was a vampire.

Looking at the human reminded him of the stories his mother told him as a child. They were much like the fairytales humans fed to their children but instead as being disregarded as mere fantasy, most werewolves regarded them as factual accounts of the times before them. From the moment he said his first words, his parents and other elders of the pack taught the stories to him until he could repeat them verbatim. As much as Roman loved the stories, he loved enhancing them, adding dragon-witches where there hadn’t been before. He was discouraged from this by his father.

“Roman, these stories have been passed down from the beginning of time. It will be your responsibility to pass along these stories to your own pups or to newly-turns.”

“But a dragon-witch is so much cooler than a regular witch though!” Roman protested.

“Perhaps, but by adding that to the story is the same as lying. You are telling people there was a dragon witch when that is not happened. Do you understand?”

“Not really.” Roman hung his head.

“Come here,” His father patted the seat next to him on the couch, “let me tell you the tale of Conan, who had a knack of embellishing tales the same as you.”

“What does ‘embellishing’ mean?” Roman wrinkled his nose as he sat beside his father.

The other chuckled, “Listen to the story and you’ll find out.”

By the end of Conan’s story, Roman truly understood the importance of reciting the sacred stories from memory. He still enjoyed the idea of dragon-witches and created his own tales that involved them. He always made sure to remind his listeners that those stories were entirely fictional unlike the other stories.

Roman learned to enjoy the stories in their original format, acting out the stories to the younger children of the pack. He always used different inflections in his voice to distinguish the various characters. One of his favorites to tell was the story of how werewolves and others like their kind came to be.

“Once upon a time, there were no werewolves,” Roman began ominously, grinning as he heard the collective gasps of his audience. Their eyes were the size of saucers.

“Nor were there vampires or magi or even selkies! There were only the beings that would become to be known as humans, known as homines. They existed in a world already populated by other beings like dwarves and giants and the fae folk.”  Here, Roman went through a flurry of motions to demonstrate traits of each mythical species he was describing. His audiences chuckled as he fell to his knees to exhibit the stature of a dwarf before standing on his tippy-toes to represent the height of a giant.

“However, they were not very extraordinary. The homines couldn’t sniff out gold like a dwarf or use magic like the fae. They also lived very short lifespans compared to the others. The other beings knew this, and they picked on the poor homines, killing or enslaving them to their whims.” Roman took a wooden sword and gently prodded an audience member, eliciting a giggle out of them.

“The homines grew tired of this treatment and cried out to the deities to grant them the gift of strength and immortality. Those who sought out the moon’s help gathered together at the height of full moon. They danced and sang under the light of the Moon, pleading for the Moon’s help.”

Roman inhaled a breath before singing. The song had a simple yet haunting melody that was easy to get stuck in one’s head.

“The moon heard this plea and chose to grant their wish for immortality. In return, however these homines would be forced to walk a balance between man and beast. ‘No longer will the beast within be hidden to the world,’ the Moon said, ‘you must express it outwardly or my rays will reveal it for you.’”

Roman’s voice became wizened and deep during the Moon’s speech.

“Thus, the werewolves were born! However, the other homines did not want to pay the toll for the Moon’s gift. Some of them thought it best to turn for the Sun for help. They held a festival in the Sun’s honor, celebrating Sun in all its glory.

“The Sun was affronted by this request. ‘I give you my light, I nourish your plants. Without me, you would perish. Still, you beg more from me.’” Roman boomed, giving his best impression of the prideful deity.

“But these foolish homines still pleaded to the Sun, saying ‘Almighty Sun, truly you are powerful than all the others. If you are powerful enough to do all these things, then surely you could grant us immortality?’

“Their taunts aggravated the Sun’s ire. How dare they question the Sun’s prowess? ‘Fine! I will grant your desire,’ The Sun acquiesced, ‘but you will be forced to wander in the darkness. No longer will my plants give you nourishment nor flesh or bone. It is the blood of those who still eat of my offerings that will satisfy your undying hunger.’”

“Vampires?” Several audience members whispered. Roman nodded his head and continued.

“Still, there were homines who refused to take on the Sun’s and the Moon’s gifts. They sought out will-o-wisps and asked not for immortality but to be blessed by magic like the fae folk. The spirits decided to heed their request, stating ‘You will live extended lifespans and be granted immeasurable power, but all magic has a price, and you may find that price to be costly to be a Magi.’” Roman intoned ominously.

“Even still, there were homines who prayed to the Ocean, wishing to seek refuge beneath the waves. These homines did not seek out tremulous power or immortality but rather safety away from the dangers of the world above waters. The Ocean felt pity for them and agreed to grant their desire. ‘I will grant your wish and in exchange you will be given skins suitable for the waters. But beware, if someone takes that skin, you will be in servitude to them.’”

Roman scanned the audience, “Can any of you tell me what the Ocean turned them into?”

“Mermaids?” A hesitant voice called out.

“Very close!” Roman gave a reassuring smile to the child, “But the Ocean turned these homines into selkies, named for their seal skins.”

He took a breath in before continuing on with the story.

“But there were homines who had forsaken the deities. Who looked down upon their brethren who became werewolves. Who cast out all the blessings offered to them and declared, ‘I will find the cure to morality through my own hands!’ They sought to gain immortality without having to pay the toll like the other homines. They thought if they drank the blood of vampires or werewolves, they’d gain immortality without paying the cost.

“So arrogant of their plans’ success, they plotted in front of the Sun’s and Moon’s eyes. Together, they agreed they could not let these homines get away with this dastardly evil plan without punishment. But being just and noble, they sent a vision to one of the men forewarning what was to come if they did not back down from their plan.”

A hand belonging to a little girl shot up in the crowd. Roman paused.

“Yes?”

“What was in the vision?” She asked.

“Oh terrible things, the most horrifying things you could ever imagine!” Roman’s eyes widened in false dread.

“Like giant spiders?”

“The attic?”

“The monsters underneath my bed?”

“Yes, yes, things of that nature,” Roman chuckled before continuing his story.

“When this man told the others of his vision, the others laughed it off as a simply a bad dream. Knowing vampires’ and werewolves’ weaknesses to the moon’s rays, these men crafted crude weapons out of fallen moon rock. They set up a trap, leading a traveling group of werewolves and vampires to believe that the homines wanted to host a feast in their honor.”

Yet another hand raised high in the air.

“I thought vampires were mean and bad, why were the werewolves with them?”

“Oho, because this was back when werewolves and vampires were the best of comrades, before they decided to stab us in the back!  But that’s a story for another time.” Roman shook his head.

“Seven courses came and went as the homines remained jovial with the unsuspecting werewolves and vampires. Then, the leader of the homines gave a signal they whipped out their weapons and stabbed the werewolves and vampires until they breathed no more. Laughing, the homines dropped their weapons and like dogs they greedily lapped up the pools of blood formed from the corpses of the vampires and werewolves.”

He paused for dramatic effect, drinking in the revolted faces of his audience.

“For three days and three nights, they foolishly celebrated their success. But on the fourth day, they arose to discover only a halo of light where the Sun should be! That wasn’t all for they quickly noticed there was fur on places there shouldn’t be fur, and fangs sat where teeth once rested.

“The halo of light grew brighter, and the homines were forced to cower in the ground from the brightness. When the light dissipated, the Sun and the Moon stood in front of them in human form!”

“What did they look like, Ro?!”

“Were they pretty? I bet they were pretty!”

“Indeed, they were magnificent!” Roman declared, “The Sun and Moon were beautiful than any other being alive—in fact there are no words to describe just how stunning they were. When the homines saw both of them standing there, they cowered even more. For you see, no one had ever seen the Sun and Moon come down together—nor that strange halo of light. For the first time, the moon and the sun appeared together in the sky.

“’You have killed your vampire and werewolf brethren unjustly in your quest for greed despite our warnings. For that you shall be punished.’ The Moon and Sun spoke in unison. The homines begged and pleaded to be spared from death. The Sun and Moon simply laughed. ‘Death? Oh no, death is too good for you mortals. In punishment for your sins, you will be cursed to turn into the very creatures you despised; werewolves and vampires. And for any other former member of your race who comes into contact with the blood of a vampire or werewolf, they too shall turn.’”

Several voices gasped in the audience.

“But that’s not all,” Roman gravely said, “Because of their arrogance, the Sun and Moon also cursed the other homines with even shorter lifespans than before!”

“That doesn’t seem very fair though, the other homines didn’t kill the werewolves and vampires!” One boy cried out.

Roman’s eyebrows raised. “Yes, but you see the other homines were just as greedy and committed other unspeakable acts. That is why they are now known as humans.”

It was because of that story and many others, that Roman was guarded by the human’s presence. Although, it wasn’t just the stories that caused him to be wary. Roman could never forget the blood that was spilled that day. Blood that stained the snow scarlet red. Blood that dripped down from the gleaming silver of their weapons. Blood that doused Roman’s hair as he laid across his father’s corpse, screaming for him to wake up---

“Uh, can I help you?”

It took every ounce of Roman’s being not to claw the human’s face off, not to mention withhold a scream.

Somewhere during his reminisces, the human awoken. He sat up against the headboard of the bed, arms crossed as he glared up at Roman. He hardly looked like a threat with that greasy hair and boney frame. But Roman knew better than to assume otherwise.

His instincts howled at him that the human was a threat that needed to be eliminated. But Roman refused to be like those homines—he would not kill this human in cold blood.

“Yes,” Roman breathed in as he clasped his hands behind his back, “I need you to promise me something or least I can’t let you leave here alive.”

The human’s eyes widened. “Wh-what—?!”

Roman opened his mouth, but there a familiar beat drummed against the door.

“Knock, knock!” Patton cheerfully rang as he opened the door. His smile fell as he took in the scene in front of him.

“Roman, please tell me you didn’t come in here to terrorize Virgil.” He said in his stern paternal voice.

Roman huffed, flailing his arms. “Look! I just came in here to make sure he wasn’t trying to pull something on us.”

Patton sighed, before stepping to Roman’s side.

“Don’t worry about Roman, he’s all bark and no bite!” Patton grinned as he nudged the other with his elbow, “right, Roman?”

Roman bit his lips. He meant every single bit of those words. He would not hesitate to tear the human apart if he dared lay a finger on Patton or even Microsoft Nerd. But it was just as important to keep up the facades that they were three ordinary humans living three very ordinary lives. It was a part Roman loathed to play, but just like all his other parts, he’d play it well.

“Of course, Pat,” He agreed, smirking as he looked up at the human, “I was only messing around. I’m sorry if you got spooked.”

“It’s fine,” The human mumbled, although he looked anything but fine.

Roman’s smirk widened. He’d definitely gotten into the human’s head—good.

Patton clasped his hands together, “Fantastic! Now, Roman, would you be willing to check on the cinnamon rolls baking the oven? I’ll let you do the frosting!”

Roman saw past that innocent façade of Patton’s to know the paternal figure was intentionally trying to get him to leave the room. He hesitated a moment, not wanting to let Patton be alone with the human. Patton seemed to pick up on this, as his eyes grew softer and his lips silently formed two words.

_Trust me._

He sighed before clearing his throat, “I will save your cinnamon rolls from the fiery furnaces and they shall be the most frostiest cinnamon rolls in all the lands!”

Roman clutched his fist in the air as he struck a triumphant pose. The human simply raised an eyebrow, expectantly unappreciative of Roman’s theatrics. Patton beamed as he leaned over to tussle Roman’s hair playfully.

“Awesome! I knew I could count on you, kiddo!”

“Patton, you messed up my hair!” Roman complained, although there was no real malice to it.

“Aw sorry, it looks like you’re a hairy situation.”

Before Roman could groan at Patton’s pun, a muffled sound erupted from the bedside. The two looked over to see a hand over the human’s mouth as he coughed.

“Well, I best be off then, before those cinnamon rolls burn.” Roman glanced at the human, “I hope you get well… _soon_.”

“Thanks.” The human replied, just as genuine as Roman’s words had been. Which was to say, not at all genuine.

Whether Patton understood it or not, a mutual understanding was reached between the other werewolf and human; neither liked the other and they both knew it. The human knew that his presence was an unwelcome sight in Roman’s eyes, and Roman would not hesitate to bring bodily harm to the human should the situation ever call for it.

* * *

 

Beautiful Art done by my amazing big bang partner [@finiteframe3](https://finiteframe3.tumblr.com/post/177415438115/my-ts-big-bang-art-based-on-the-amazing-story) on tumblr


	6. The Cat Comes out of the Bag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So what if I’m human, huh?” Virgil spat out, “You guys are human, aren’t you?”
> 
> Patton avoided eye contact, his eyes immediately drifting towards the floor. Logan adjusted his tie, as if finding the room too warm. Roman, on the other hand, chuckled. He leaned downward until their heads were leveled.
> 
> “Hardly.” He flashed a wide grin, and Virgil jolted backwards

For someone who was a walking anxiety attack waiting to happen, Virgil found himself surprised how well he was taking things, all considered. He supposed he was still experiencing a wonderful thing called denial. He kept waiting to wake up in that dingy alleyway, police cops demanding his statement. Or in a hospital attached to machines. Maybe even back in his room at the apartment.

Deep down inside, he knew everything happening was reality. It was stupid for him to keep pretending this was all just an elaborate fantasy. He was like a child playing make-believe, trying to believe that everything was more wondrous than it truly was. But it was better than being reduced to a pathetic sobbing mess.

Little by little, the illusion started to shatter. It began when he woke up the next day with a man standing over his bedside that was neither Logan nor Patton. That fact alone startled him, because the two hadn’t mentioned there was another occupant. The man stared at him, his jaw clenched, as his hands at his sides curled into fists. His eyes were shiny with tears. He wore a leather jacket with red sleeves and an elaborate red design on the front along with black jeans. Hanging from his neck was a decorative locket.

_ “I need you to promise me something or else I can’t let you leave here alive.” _

Patton waved it off, stating that it was only a joke, but Virgil stared into those eyes. He didn’t doubt for a second that Roman wouldn’t follow through with that threat for real. It was that moment when Virgil’s fears and worries about being an unfamiliar place with strangers trickled back in. It also helped that the fever slowly released its hold on him, allowing Virgil to process things clearer.

What had Roman wanted Virgil to promise? It obviously important enough that Roman was willing to kill Virgil over for it if he failed to uphold the promise. Perhaps it wasn’t anything important. Maybe Roman just wasn’t right in the head. Virgil didn’t know which scenario he liked better.

It wasn’t just Roman, but it was also the others.

In the short time that Virgil came to know him, Patton was certainly the friendliest of the trio. He sprouted off puns and fussed over Virgil like a mother hen. When Virgil made a remark stating something along those lines, Patton gasped.

“I’m not a mom, I’m a dad!” He grinned, placing an arm around Logan.

“What, really?” Virgil asked, caught off-guard by the declaration.

It took his brain a split second to register that the absurdity of thinking that Patton was truly Logan’s father. Although the two could easily be mistaken as brothers or cousins with the uncanny resemblance found in the same pairs of glasses, brown hair and similarly shaped facial structures. Virgil already mistaken one for another twice on account of his fever muddled mind. In his defense, both times happened when he had limited light to go by.

However, he was able to quickly tell the two apart based on their wardrobes. Their choice of clothing spoke volumes of their varying personalities. Patton wore a lot of shirts with cutesy cats or cheesy puns. Logan, on the other hand, always dressed formally. Virgil didn’t think he’d yet to see the man without a tie on. Even that one time he came to the guest room with a unicorn onesie on, the man still had a tie wrapped around his neck.

Regardless, Patton’s grin grew even wider.

“Yes!” He exclaimed the same time that Logan yelled out a resounding no.

“He is by no means my biological father, he simply likes to envision himself as the ‘father figure of the group’ quote unquote.” Logan explained, as he pushed Patton’s arm off his neck.

“Well, as your g—as the oldest I suppose I feel a sense of responsibility to you two kiddos.” Patton chuckled, taking off his glasses to wipe them against his shirt. Today it was a pastel tie-dye with a Hello Kitty logo on the front side of it.

Virgil frowned, not missing how Logan sent a stern glare to Patton before he had changed his wording halfway through his sentence. That wasn’t the first time this happened during Virgil’s time at their home. Patton would start to say something before abruptly interrupting his own sentence with a different comment. At first, Virgil thought Patton was just one of those people who bounced from one topic after the next, thinking faster than they could speak.

From what he observed, Patton was one such person. He reminded Virgil of those dogs from Up. He caught sight of a squirrel and suddenly the complete conversation would be derailed. But then Virgil started to notice a pattern with some of them. How Patton’s eyes flicked nervously downwards or how he fiddled with his glasses during these occurrences.

Patton was friendly, yes, but he was also one of the worst liars Virgil had ever encountered.

It was hard to read Logan, on the other hand. He remained polite yet reserved around Virgil, a blank mask of indifference. While Patton smothered Virgil in his role of nursemaid, Logan rattled off facts until Virgil complied to his wishes. Virgil learned more about the benefits of drinking an adequate amount of water every day in the span of a few days than his whole life.

Virgil knew, however, Logan’s feelings on Virgil’s presence in the household wasn’t neutral as he liked to present himself. While Patton attended Virgil out of a genuine interest in seeing him get better, Logan’s motives were entirely different. He wanted to get Virgil out of his house, quick as possible, but wasn’t cruel enough to throw him out in his current condition. Either that, or he let Patton talked him into letting Virgil stay longer.

If there was one thing Virgil appreciated about Roman, it was that he didn’t hide the fact that he hated Virgil’s guts unlike Logan. Seriously, the man kept shooting daggers at Virgil like he murdered his parents or something. Virgil couldn’t make head or tail of why Roman acted like he had a personal vendetta against him.

One thing was for certain; they were all hiding something from him. What exactly, Virgil hadn’t the slightest clue. Nor did he intend to stick around to find out. He wasn’t some reckless protagonist in a literary novel. He was a tired young adult whose hobbies included being the universe’s favorite chew toy. One look at Mister Tall, Dark and Murder’s eyes was enough to convince him from pursuing the truth. He occasionally enjoyed breathing from time to time, despite evidence that implied otherwise.

He waited until it was late at night, when he was certain the others would be asleep, to make his grand escape. It didn’t take much to take stay awake; Virgil was blessed to be wonderfully gifted in the art of insomnia. His mind ran through all the potential scenarios, all the potential ways it could go wrong. Virgil hadn’t strayed far outside the guest room, but he knew enough it was located on the second story of a decently sized house, nestled in the back-right corner of the upstairs. All he had to do was simply walk to the end of the hallway and take a left, which would lead to the stairways. Directly facing the stairways was the front door itself. Simple.

Of course, there were creaky floorboards, the possibility that one of them was still up, and Patton’s gigantic dog to worry about.

Which, he was still convinced it was a wolf. He’d seen it one other time since that morning and the creature’s head nearly came up to his shoulders. While it had been affectionate to Virgil, those sharp claws made him nervous. He may have dreamed of running away and becoming a part of a wolf pack in middle school, but those days were behind him. As an adult, he preferred to stay away from the real thing as far as possible. Admittedly, he feared running into the wolf the most. He could only hope that if the big oaf was wandering about, that it wouldn’t attack him or alert the others of his escape.

His intestines were a bunch of knotted up, squirming worms. The impulse to hide under the blankets and pretend the outside world didn’t exist was strong, but he ignored it. He couldn’t put it off yet another day. Granted, he’d waited until he could walk without black dots clouding his vision. But he could tell the others were getting tired of his presence. It was best he slipped out, quietly, on his own before something happened.

He would return to his life of drudgery and figure out how he was going to keep himself from getting kicked out of his apartment. Logan and Roman would be satisfied by his absence. Patton probably would be happy as well. After all, bringing Virgil here had been a panicked mistake on his part. Maybe Patton would be relieved that he didn’t have to keep attending to a sick stranger out of a guilty conscious.

As he swung his legs over the bed, he inhaled deeply. He picked up his hoodie from the post of the bed and slid it over him. He felt the lining of the pocket, relieved to find his wallet and his phone was still safe inside. Virgil was glad he’d taken advantage of the hole in the lining to hide his valuables in there.

His phone, unfortunately, had been dead before he even left work. It was a clunky model from one of the older smartphone generations with a cracked screen and a bad battery, but it still worked. Virgil did many stupid things in his life (such as traveling down a dark deserted alleyway) but he was not going to upgrade to the latest, greatest phone model when he could barely afford his apartment. Besides, he had a sentimental attachment to the old phone, nicknaming it Taran after the protagonist in the Black Cauldron.

Most people when they heard that the Black Cauldron was his favorite Disney movie laughed. They assumed it was because only because it was the dark, edgy cult classic out of all the Disney animated films. That was, if they had even heard of the movie in the first place. Disney had done their best to delete the movie that almost single-handedly shutdown their entire animation studios from the public’s minds.

While, yes, he did enjoy the movie because of the darker themes compared to other Disney films, it wasn’t just that. In a way, he identified with the movie. Society was always trying to sweep him under the rug, pretending like he didn’t exist. They pretended like he wasn’t another kid yet again failed by the foster care system. People hated him because he was too dreary. He was too pessimistic or too emo. For the longest time, he tried to be whatever they wanted him to be. Maybe it’d stop the pounding in his heart if people accepted him.

When that didn’t work and the pounding in his heart grew louder instead, he stopped. It was too tiring trying to be a happy, optimistic orphan like Annie in search of his Oliver Warbucks. He didn’t care if they were rich, as long as arms would pull him close and make him feel like he was home again. He isolated himself, refusing to let himself get too attached to people. It only set him up for inevitable heartbreak. For the most part, it worked and that was enough. It had to be enough.

Virgil drew in a deep breath, as he ran his hand across the cracks of his phone screen. Satisfied he had all his belongings, Virgil stood up and slowly made his way to the door. He could do this, he could this, he could do this. All he needed to do was take this one step at a time. Literally.

He took his hand out of his pocket and clasped the handle of the door. He turned the doorknob slowly and opened the door just enough for him to slip through. His hand shook as he did his best to close the door softly. The door closed with a small thud and Virgil whipped his head to look around the hallway. Nothing. The noise must’ve been too quiet to wake anyone up.

Still, he stood there at least ten more minutes just in case someone got up to investigate. The next obstacle of the night; the creaky floorboards, one of Virgil’s greatest adversaries in life. He couldn’t count on his hand the number of times that those damn things landed him into trouble. Regrettably he didn’t have enough time in his short stay to figure out the exact placings of the creaky floorboards. He’d been too busy laying in bed, puking his guts out. He just knew they were there from his trips to the bathroom.

Without the light of his phone to guide him, traversing the dark hallways was even harder. Luckily there was a dim nightlight in the center of the hallway that helped things. He felt like Indiana Jones as he took delicate steps, doing his best to feel his way around the creaky floorboards. It took him awhile, but he finally reached top of the stairs, grazing triumphantly at his ticket to freedom.

Grinning, he made a move to go down the stairs when a voice rang out, freezing him in place.

“Patton, we went over this already. Virgil  _ cannot _ become a part of the pack.” Logan said.

Virgil scrambled backwards, falling onto the floor, out of sight. In the living room stood the hosts of the home. All of them were too engrossed in their discussion that it was unlikely that they caught sight of him on the stairway. Great. There was no way he could sneak past them and escape through the front door in front of their faces.

He’d take his chances with one of the second story windows except a broken leg was the last thing he needed. Instead, he chose to stay out of sight and listen to the conversation. There was no way he was sneaking back to the guest bedroom at this point. He wouldn’t be able to fall asleep knowing they were talking about him behind his back.

“We can’t just abandon him like this—he’s only a pup!” Patton protested.

“He’s not a pup, Pat, he’s a  _ human _ . He’s not some innocent injured bird or kitten!” Roman gestured dramatically with his hands.

Something sat uncomfortably with Virgil by the three’s usage of words. First Logan disagreeing with Patton’s idea of inducting Virgil into a ‘pack’ then Patton himself referring to him as a pup. His first thought was that the three were involved in an illegal gang of some sorts. His second thought was that they were furries, and he honestly didn’t know which one scared him the most. He knew that most of the Furries out there were kindhearted people. But it sounded suspicious that Patton wanted to try inducting a practically virtual stranger into a group of some sorts. A Furrie Cult, perhaps? The thought made him silently shudder.

If they were Furries, it made sense for Roman to call him a human if he identified as a swan or some shit. It didn’t change the fact that it caused Virgil to burn with anger by the comment. He hated pompous stuck-ups that viewed themselves as higher than anyone else. It was one thing to hate someone for their actions, it was another to hate something they couldn’t change, such as being of flesh and blood.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I concur with Roman. He is an adult who probably has obligations to attend to, and a community of his own. It is in the best interests of both us and him that we go our separate ways.”

“He doesn’t have a pack, that’s the problem!” Patton exclaimed, “Why he hasn’t he tried contacting his packmates to let him know he’s safe? Why haven’t his packmates tried finding him, for that matter?”

Virgil bit his lips. Was it really that noticeable to an almost complete stranger? He should’ve made a better effort to seem not like a complete total loser. At the very least, he could’ve tried calling into work and explaining the situation. But his anxiety held him back, knowing the likelihood of his boss believing him after missing five complete shifts were too slim to none.

“While that is odd, it is not our business to interfere with a stranger’s life. Perhaps he prefers independence.”

“Need I remind you he’s a  _ human _ ? There’s no telling what dastardly tricks he has up his sleeve. I bet he’s plotting in his room as we speak!”

Something snapped inside of Virgil. With his option of flight being taken away from him, he chose fight. He tore down the stairs, careless of how loud his feet stomped. The three heads swiveled towards the noise, equally shocked by the appearance of their house guest as he stormed straight up to Roman. Virgil glared up at him with the intimidation factor of an angry chihuahua. Roman was a few inches taller than Virgil, but nothing compared to Logan and Patton who stood like giants above Virgil.

Logan cleared his throat.

“Salutations Virgil—”

“Hi, Logan.” Virgil kept glaring at Roman, who glowered back at him.

“How—how much did you hear?” Patton played with the sleeves of his jacket nervously.

“A lot.” Virgil glanced at Patton before turning his gaze on Roman, “Look, if you have a problem with me, spit it out.”

Roman looked like he could go on a tirade; his mouth opened and closed repeatedly, his breathing catching each time before words could be formed. At long last, he gave a sigh.

“You’re human.” He stated, as if those two words encompassed the indescribable disdain he held towards Virgil.

“So what if I’m human, huh?” Virgil spat out, “You guys are human, aren’t you?”

Patton avoided eye contact, his eyes immediately drifting towards the floor. Logan adjusted his tie, as if finding the room too warm. Roman, on the other hand, chuckled. He leaned downward until their heads were leveled.

“Hardly.” He flashed a wide grin, and Virgil jolted backwards.

Roman’s teeth were too sharp to be normal. Pointed and elongated in ways that wasn’t natural. Virgil’s breath hitched. They couldn’t be real—they must be fake, right? He glanced over to the others, who stood there quietly observing his reaction. Patton hunched inwards towards himself, a bundle of nervous energy. Logan remained unreadable as ever, his icy gaze piercing through Virgil’s being. Neither made a move to deny Roman’s claim.

Virgil’s heart thrashed against his chest. He knew that the supernatural existed. Things like ghosts, vampires and werewolves. But they were never a huge worry in big cities as they were menaces that only threatened the rural areas. There hadn’t been a supernatural case reported in years in the city. Not officially at least.

Virgil enjoyed watching conspiracy videos. They probably didn’t help his anxiety, but they helped distract him on nights where he already wasn’t falling asleep anytime soon. Some conspiracy theorists theorized that there were more supernatural happenings than the general public was let on about. One theorist estimated that one in twenty people could be a supernatural being hiding in plain sight. Alleged sources said that the government chose to hide this fact from the public to prevent mass panic.

“What they don’t know can’t hurt them.” One anonymous government agent stated in an interview.

Considering he was staring at three potentially non-human beings, it could be very well be true. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t picked up on the signs earlier. His parents’ warnings came back to him. Be wary but polite. Which of course he threw out the window the moment he opened his mouth to speak.

“So, what, are you going to suck my blood or something?” He eventually asked, attempting to hide his panic under a layer of heavy sarcasm.

“What, no?!” Roman shrieked, looking offended at such an accusation, “We’re not vampires!”

“Then what are you?” Virgil raised an eyebrow, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pocket.

“We’re lycanthropes,” Logan said. At Virgil’s questioning stare, he clarified, “Werewolves, essentially.”

“Right, of course.” Virgil deadpanned.

“What, is my teeth not proof of enough?” Roman snarled, and Virgil jolted once more.

He gathered his composure, despite everything in him screaming to up and flee—he needed to escape, he was in danger, oh god he was going to get his throat ripped out by three possible werewolves. Perhaps, if he sprinted fast enough, he might be able to reach the front door.

No, he shoved the thought away. There was no way, he’d make it. So instead, he smirked. Because everything so far this week had been effed up, what was a little more at this point? The worst thing that could happen was that he ended up dead, and considering everything that had happened so far, that might not be such a bad idea.

“How do I know those aren’t surgical implants?” Virgil gestured towards Roman, “and I suppose the next thing you’ll say is that you can’t transform to prove you’re werewolves because it’s not that time of the month?”

“Actually, that’s a bit of a misnomer. While the moon cycle does affect our transformations, we can transform at will.” Logan said, as if rattling off a widely known fact.

Virgil swallowed a lump in his throat.

“Prove it then.”

Roman scoffed, “We don’t have to prove anything—”

“I’ll do it.” Patton interrupted, silencing the upcoming argument.

“Patton,” Logan said warningly.

“I’ll be fine.” Patton placed a hand on his shoulder, “Logan, please.”

A look transferred between the two of them. Then Logan’s shoulders sagged.

“Fine.” Logan relented, although he didn’t sound happy.

Patton looked over at Virgil, smiling, “This will probably look really scary but, uh, don’t worry! I’ll still be here.”

“Okay.” Virgil mumbled in acknowledgement. He realized a second too late that daring a werewolf to transform was probably the stupidest thing he had done in his life. The second was walking through a shady alleyway. He couldn’t back out now. He forced himself to stand there and watch the consequences of his action unfold.

He stared at Patton, the small but still optimistic part of Virgil hoped he’d whip out a fursuit. Maybe this was all a stupid prank that Roman roped the other two into pulling on him. Roman seemed like the pranking type. Logan and Patton, however, seemed like they’d be hard to convince.

Patton inhaled deeply. At first, there nothing happened. Then he let out a pained cry and dropped to the floor, convulsing. Virgil immediately reached out towards him, but a hand stopped him.

“He’s transforming,” Logan said, keeping an iron grip on Virgil’s shoulder, “It’s not wise to try stopping a transition.”

Virgil wanted to yell that he was obviously having a seizure and in need of medical attention. But one at his face and Virgil’s words died on his throat. Logan’s eyes averted towards Patton, and Virgil followed their gaze.

He exhaled sharply at the sight. He’s seen poor CGI renditions in movies. But nothing could’ve prepared him for the real thing. It was no longer Patton convulsing on the floor, but another creature entirely. He could hear bones bubbling underneath the skin, as they shifted and morphed to fit a different framework. Grey hair started sprouting all over the body. No, not hair---fur. Patton’s scream turned more and more animalistic as time went on.

Virgil closed his eyes, unable to look on any further. Hearing Patton’s cries was torture enough. It’s his fault, after all. He was the one who egged them on. He could’ve went along with their initial claims, long enough for him to be able to escape when their backs were turned. He could still have a shred of reality left in him. But it was too late now.

He didn’t know how long it lasted until the final bone shifted into place. But suddenly something knocked him off his feet and he tensed, prepared for sharp teeth to start sinking into his skin. Instead a feeling of wet sandpaper crashed against his face. He slowly opened his eyes to see a very familiar wolf assaulting him with kisses.

It was then he came to a conclusion he should’ve reached sooner. Patton’s dog was neither a dog nor a wolf after all. Patton’s dog was Patton himself.


	7. The Basement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn’t at all a surprise to Logan when Virgil fainted shortly after Patton’s transformation. Humans tended to have two reactions when it came to the discovery of their true natures. They’d either reacted in terror or reacted in violence. Virgil was predictably the former.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Arguing, Mild Violence.

It wasn’t at all a surprise to Logan when Virgil fainted shortly after Patton’s transformation. Humans tended to have two reactions when it came to the discovery of their true natures. They’d either reacted in terror or reacted in violence. Virgil was predictably the former.

From what he observed of the human, Virgil exhibited characteristics associated with an anxiety disorder of some sort. Logan was not a certified psychologist, but he was well read enough to recognize the signs. Any person would be wary to find oneself in a stranger's’ home. But Virgil was overtly wary. He hid it with flippant remarks, but Logan could tell there was no true bite behind them.

What did surprise him was how Virgil stormed down the stairs and confronted Roman. That, he had to admit, was highly amusing. Especially since Roman didn’t take it well that the human dared oppose him. It was also admirable how well Virgil took their initial claims, though Logan hypothesized that had something to do with denial. It wasn’t until Virgil was faced with the reality of the situation licking at his face that he broke down.

Logan wasn’t well versed with what the Internet called “memes” but he believed he could pinpoint the exact second the realization hit Virgil like a freight train. It was something about the way his pupils dilated with terror as his skin became a whiter shade of pale than before. Then his head rolled backwards, and his body grew limp. Patton whined with concern, prodding Virgil’s head with his nose.

“Get him some room,” Logan said, pushing Patton away from the human.

He paid little attention to Patton morphing back as he picked the human up and laid him on the couch. He made sure to elevate Virgil’s legs to help regain consciousness. Meanwhile Roman exploded into a flurry of words.

“—I knew keeping him here was a bad idea, I knew it!” Roman ran a hand through his unruly hair, “But does anyone care to listen to what I have to say? Of course not!”

Logan gritted his teeth. He loathed to admit that Roman was right. He’d hoped that Virgil left within a day or two, reducing the risk of the human discovering the truth. Unfortunately, humans seldom did what Logan expected of them. One would assume that being a former member of the human race would better equip them to understanding them, but alas it did not.

He would not concede that Roman had been right, however. Heavens know that was the last thing his enormous ego needed. The other werewolf would hold it over his head for months. Not to mention, it’d weaken Logan’s foothold as the de facto leader of the three.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe it was you who chose to reveal us to him, thus rendering the façade that we were simply normal humans.”

“He was already onto us!” Roman threw his hands up in the air, “I didn’t see you or Patton jumping in and trying to salvage it!”

Which was true, Logan had been so startled by the accusation that he froze. Though, he doubted Virgil meant it any way other than flippant. Regretfully, being put on the spot had never been Logan’s forte. By the time his brain started processing a response to Virgil, Roman already jumped in and ruined it all.

“I still fail to see how that justifies your decision to confirm his suspicions,” Logan commented, “If anything, I’d argue you intentionally did it to sabotage.”

“Sabotage? SABOTAGE?!” Roman shrieked, “I would never hurt the safety of the pack like that!”

Logan raised his eyebrow, “Oh? And what ways would you harm the pack, then?”

Roman let out an incomprehensible sound of rage. He opened his mouth to argue back when a loud hush silenced him.

“Shh! He’s waking up.” Patton glared at them. Logan could tell by the way his lips pressed together that Patton was not happy by the two’s squabbling.

He turned to lean over the couch where Virgil was slowly stirring awake. Considering that most people awake within a few minutes of fainting, this was not disconcerting. It’d be more worrying if he fell into a deep slumber of sleep and never woke up. Thankfully there had been no witches present to cast such a spell.

Virgil’s eyes fluttered open, and he was greeted with the sight of Patton’s face grazing over at him. The human immediately shrieked, his head hitting the back of the couch as he jolted backwards. Patton’s brow wrinkled up with concern. He attempted reaching out a hand—possibly to comfort the human. But it the action had the opposite effect on the human, who trembled as he curled up like a snail attempting to hide in its shell.

“Pl—please don’t eat me.” The human whimpered.

Patton’s breath hitched as he withdrew his hand. He looked up pleadingly at Logan who silently shook his head.  Logan knew that Patton hoped so much that this human would be able to see them anything other than monsters. Patton was an enigma to Logan. He could not understand how the other lived so long without growing cynical. He remained optimistic even when humans proved him wrong time and time again.

Logan wasn’t sure if it was stupid or admirable of him to keep doing so. Logan was of the opinion that it would be incredibly difficult for humans to break centuries of internalized hatred of other species. Especially considering the discrimination that took place within their own species. The few humans who’ve dared going against the current were mocked and labeled lunatics. Which thus discredited their words in the eyes of the other humans.

But while he’d denied it to the Moon and back, there was a small part of him who wanted to believe humans could change. The tiny, optimistic part of him that hadn’t quite died just yet. That was why he allowed Patton to show Virgil. He wanted to be proven wrong.

“Of course, we’re not going to eat you! How dare you suggest such a thing!” Roman scoffed at the notion, “Even if eating human flesh wasn’t forbidden, I’d rather starve than eat a human!”

The human peeked his head upwards, “Forbidden?”

“Yes, lycanthropes aren’t as uncivilized as humans presume. We do follow an ethical set of rules.” Logan adjusted his glasses.

“I promise, we wouldn’t do that to you—or hurt you in anyway whatsoever!” Patton held his hands up in a nonthreatening manner.

“Why’d you bring me here then if you weren’t going to eat me?” The human snapped.

Despite being a whole foot taller than the human, Patton stumbled backwards out of fright.

Logan frowned, as he took a step forward to stand in front of Patton.

“It is precisely the same reasons that we explained earlier. Patton never had any intentions of bringing you harm. He saw you were in trouble and he jumped in to save you. Be thankful it was Patton who happened to be in that alleyway, as I can assure you that neither Roman nor I would’ve done the same for you.”

Virgil bit his lip, “If you aren’t going to eat me, what are you going to do with me, then?!”

Logan and the others paused. They all shared glances with one another, each one clearly indicating that none of them were quite sure what to do now that he knew. Patton, of course, had wanted to induct the human into the pack. But Logan didn’t think he’d prepared for Virgil to react negatively. Patton always assumed the best of people.

As stated earlier, Logan didn’t prepare for such a contingency as this, for he assumed there would be no need of one.

However Roman was an entire different story completely. His lips curled upwards into a smirk as he sauntered towards the couch. Logan could tell that Roman had been dreaming for an opportunity like this for days now.

“Why, we’re going to feed you to the ravens of course!” Roman said with glee.

“No, we’re not going to do that!” Logan and Patton yelled in unison.

Roman groaned, “Oh fine! What do you two propose, then?”

Patton and Logan exchanged a glance. Patton’s eyes were dilated—a common sign of panic. He bit his lips as he tilted his head downwards to look at the floor. More than anything, Patton wanted a solution that’d satisfy everyone. But logically, it was impossible.

As much as Logan wanted the human out of the house. It wasn’t that simple. They couldn’t trust the human not to tell others of their existence. Murder, while a sufficient choice, was definitely out. Ethical ramifications aside, covering it all up would be more trouble than what it’s worth. Which unfortunately left only one option in Logan’s mind.

“Since, well, I suppose—I suppose you’ll remain with us for the time being.” Logan clasped his hands together.

“What?!” Roman yelled, his eyes widening.

Patton gasped in what Logan presumed to be a positive reaction to the idea. It was something he’d wanted all along, after all.

The human remained silent for a minute, before he tilted his head upwards to make eye contact with Logan. The fire in his eyes surprised Logan. It appeared he had a bit of fighting left in him after all. He supposed it was akin to an animal being backed into the corner, lashing out in fear.

“So what, I’m your prisoner now?!” Virgil snarled, “L—look. I promise I won’t tell anyone about you guys. Hell, I doubt anyone would believe me. I’ll do anything you want just please—let me go.” The human’s voice cracked as he fought back tears threatening to spill onto his face.

“Logan—” Patton placed a hand on his shoulder.

“No,” Logan interrupted, “No, I’m afraid there isn’t anything you can do. I—we cannot risk another move. How do we have any way of knowing you will hold to your promise? Believe me, I would prefer not to resort to keeping you in this house indefinitely. Had you not discovered the truth, I would gladly let you leave our home. But I cannot, knowing you could endanger us.” Logan paused, “I promise, this is only a temporary solution. Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” Virgil said stiffly, “I understand.”

“Good—”

No sooner had the word left Logan’s mouth when the human vaulted over the couch and made a mad dash towards the front door. His hand grasped the doorknob when a pair of strong hands yanked him backwards.

“I’ve got you, foul fiend!” Roman proclaimed triumphantly, hauling the struggling human towards the group.

“Roman let go of him at once!” Patton cried out, as he approached the two.

Logan held a hand before Patton, “No. He’ll only make another run.”

“Damn right I would!” The human yelled, squirming underneath Roman’s grasp, “listen, my life was already hell enough before all this shit happened. I promise I won’t say anything, just—just let me go already, dammit!”

Logan’s resolve faltered. Despite this being the logical choice, it still sat uncomfortably in his mind. Tried as he might, he was terrible at predicting others’ behaviors. Logan prided himself on his drive to learn knowledge. He understood math and science in ways that boggled the average person’s mind. But people? They were a mystery to him. With the erratic behavior that Virgil portrayed so far, he had no way of knowing if he’d truly keep his word.

No, he had to stand firm behind his decision. There was no backing out of it now.

“Roman, deliver him  _ safely _ to the basement,” Logan said, coolly ignoring Virgil’s pleas, “and make sure you lock the door.”

Roman regarded him for a moment. The last thing he wanted was Virgil in the house a moment longer. But neither Logan or Patton would be happy if he disposed of the human.

“As you wish.” He growled, as he dragged the trembling human towards the entrance of the basement.

It wasn’t until Roman and the human disappeared from sight that Logan allowed himself to collapse into the couch in exhaustion. Logan knew there was no way this was a long-term solution to their problems. But it’d have to a dilemma for another day. Right now, he was in serious need of a jar full of Crofters. The couch shifted as someone sat beside him. Patton.

He looked up at him. Patton smiled at him—lips stretched too thinly across his face. He fidgeted in his seat, taking a slow steady breath before speaking up.

“Logan, this isn’t right.” Patton spoke, soft but stern akin to a parent reprimanding a child. Logan was not a child.

“What do you mean, ‘this isn’t right?’” Logan narrowed his eyes, “I thought this was what you wanted Patton.”

“Not like this!” Patton burst out, “I wanted him to have a choice—I never wanted this!”

“You should’ve have never brought him here if you didn’t want this,” Logan sniped, “You saw the panic in his eyes—we can’t just trust he wouldn’t expose us.”

“He promised he wouldn’t!”

“He said that while he was under duress, Patton! He would’ve said the sky was green if it meant we’d let him free!”

“You don’t know that!”

“Yes I do! Not everyone as good as you think they are!” Logan inhaled deeply, “Look. I did what was right for the pack—I made the logical choice that best mitigated the danger  _ you  _ brought to the pack.”

Patton flinched at the accusation as tears threatened to spill from his face. It pained Logan and he almost took back those words. But Patton needed to understand the weight of his actions. He needed to learn that he couldn’t afford to be so naïve any longer. He needed to grow up, like Logan had.

“He—he was hurt, I couldn’t just leave him there.” Patton protested weakly, a sob racking his chest.

Logan shook his head before taking off his glasses to rub at his eyes.

“Patton why bring that point up when you know what I’m going to say?”

“I—I know,” Patton hiccupped, “I should’ve taken him to a hospital—but he looked so small and vulnerable, I couldn’t just leave him there, Lo! I still don’t think he’d—he’d tell on us, but I didn’t mean to endanger the pack, I just wanted to help him. I’m—I’m sorry, Logan!”

Patton sniffled, pulling his knees together to wrap his arms around them. Logan sighed before spreading his arms out.

“Are you in need of a hug, Patton?” He asked.

Wordlessly Patton threw himself at Logan, knocking the other flat on his back onto the couch. Logan grunted in surprise, but slowly placed his arms around Patton’s shuddering figure. Patton rambled apologetically, the words lost to Logan’s ears due to the fact that Patton’s face was squished into his chest.

“There, there. I know you didn’t mean to endanger the pack,” Logan said, running a hand through Patton’s locks of hair, “Patton, your heart is both your greatest strength and weakness. You care a lot for the world and the people which inhabit it, which is commendable. But at the same time, you act upon things with your heart too much. You need to think things through more…logically.”

“But that’s why I have you,” Patton shifted his head upwards to look at him.

“Patton, I’m serious.”

“Hi serious, I’m Dad.”

Logan groaned and made a half-hearted attempt to push Patton off of him. The other laughed and shifted to where he was lying side by side with Logan.

“I’m sorry, Logan, it was too easy,” Patton grinned before he slipped into a stern gaze, “You’re right, Logan. I need to think more before leap. So I’ll land on my feet—like a cat! Meow!”

He punctuated that last word making a clawing motion with his hand.

“I still don’t understand your infatuation with cats. Especially considering the fact you are allergic and every cat you come across tries to claw you.”

“I just think they’re cute!” Patton frowned, “besides, they don’t mean to hurt me on purpose, they’re just playing!”

Logan could point out that the cats showed signs of distress and were definitely not playing, but he kept his mouth shut. Just when he thought he got through to Patton, the other reverted back to his childish self.

“Hey Logan.” Patton said, pulling at a loose thread on his hoodie sleeve.

“Yes, Patton?”

“We aren’t going to keep Virgil in the basement forever, right?” Patton asked, “You’re going to find a solution like you promised to Virgil, right?”

“Yes of course,” Logan inhaled sharply.

“You promise?”

“I promise.” Logan said. But his throat constricted, and he refused to look Patton in the eyes.

If he’d risked a glance at Patton, he would’ve saw something flash across his face. If he saw how his nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed, he’d known something was off. But instead he didn’t look up until he heard Patton hum. He saw only a wide, content smile as Patton nuzzled his head against Logan’s shoulder.

“Good.” Patton yawned as he shut his eyes, “that’s good.”


	8. Doing the Right Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil couldn’t believe he was saying this, but he missed his cold, lumpy bed. He missed his purple fleece blanket that he draped over himself like a cape. He missed his workplace, manager from hell and all. Anything was better than facing a lifetime stranded in the pit of a basement by three werewolves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: minor character death (mentioned), entrapment, sensory depreviation

Patton was born many moons ago, during the night of a full moon. He was the eldest of three, his sisters Rieka and Rudi were born mere minutes later. The elders of the pack said that they were blessed at first to be born on a full moon. While werewolves respected all cycles of the moon, the full moon was respected above all. The full moon was a symbol of rebirth and new beginnings. It was a reminder of the night that those chosen homines had been reborn into werewolves.

As new life, it was a sign of a good luck for babies to be born under the gaze of a full moon. It signified a life full of promise; a life full of prosperity. Some new mothers forced labors specifically for their child to be granted this blessing. That practice was looked down upon, and it was said that children born from those labors were cursed for their mothers’ trickery.

Which why it was no surprise when others accused Patton’s mother of committing the taboo when his sisters died not long after birth. Why else would they die so easily? Werewolves weren’t weak like humans; they could survive diseases that decimated humans in droves. But his sisters’ immune systems had been too weak to fight off the illness that was circulating the pack.

Unlike his sisters, Patton lived. Throughout his life, others accused him of surviving through unnatural means.

“Your mother must’ve paid a visit to a witch,” They sneered, “You shouldn’t be alive—you should’ve died as a baby alongside your sisters.”

Some stood in his defense, proclaiming that he was spared the same fate as his sisters by the Moon for a reason. Surely the Moon took pity on his mother and spared one of her children from punishment.

Still, no one believed his mother’s pleas that the birth had been a natural one. No one except Patton, who hugged his mother’s weeping figure in the depths of her inconsolable anguish. His mother never cried in public. She refused to show weakness nor be pressured into admitting a falsehood.

Oh his mother believed it was a punishment from the Moon alright, but in her eyes it had to be for a slight from earlier in life.

She went to her grave with that conviction. Her body was found in the woods, with a twisted piece of silver stabbed through her heart. Patton was told humans committed the atrocity. As much as humans were a bogeyman to Patton at the time, he didn’t believe it.

Patton and his mother lived on the fringes of the pack, nearly ostracized from everyone. Patton’s father refused to speak to him, let alone acknowledge his existence. They were always given the smallest servings at mealtime. Others spoke cruelly behind his mother’s back, to which Patton did his best to defend his mother’s honor. He stopped after his mother discovered the bruises lining his arms and legs.

Most importantly, he saw how their eyes gleamed with mirth and their lips twitched to suppress a smirk. The rest of the pack went into a frenzy over the news. As much as his mother had been hated and despised, humans had still killed one of their own. Her death broke the tentative peace that was reached between the pack and the human community that lived nearby.

Later in life, Patton would realize that his mother’s death had been a political move to destroy any trust built with the humans. There had been an undercurrent in the pack that refused to see humans as equals, as anything other than evil. His mother was the perfect target. While her death would incite the pack’s rage, no one cared enough to investigate her death close enough.

Patton didn’t know the exact year in which he was born. Werewolves didn’t follow the same calendars as humans. But he lived long enough to see that evil existed in all beings alike, whether they’d be humans, werewolves or vampires and so on. But just as there can be evil in everyone, so can there be good in everyone.

That was why he refused to believe Virgil was evil just because he happened to be a human. From his childhood alone, Patton ran across enough werewolves who committed as many atrocious acts as humans. They refused to acknowledge that their actions mirrored those that belonged to cruel humans.

Roman’s former pack held many of the same beliefs as the one Patton grew up in. He was indoctrinated to see humans as lesser beings and to regard werewolves to be the superior species. It didn’t help that Roman was hurt badly by humans, further cementing those beliefs. Patton couldn’t fault him for that. He could only hope that with a few helpful prods Roman would come to the same understanding that Patton came to.

Logan hated recognizing he once was a human himself. He never said it out loud, but Patton knew it was because he was ashamed of how humans treated supernatural beings. How he treated the supernatural before he came one himself. Logan conceded logically that there had to be humans who treated beings like werewolves justly. But he was quick to assume the worst when he saw Virgil’s reaction to Patton’s transformation.

Both of them believed it was near impossible for humans to see their kind as anything but monsters. They didn’t seem to realize that their actions only served to confirm that view to Virgil.

Human or not, locking somebody up in your basement was wrong. It made Patton’s stomach churn just thinking about it. He’d only wanted to protect Virgil from other humans the way he wished someone done for him and his mother. He didn’t think that he’d have to protect him from his own packmates!

He sighed as he stood in front of the basement door, a sandwich on a plate in hand. Roman and Logan were going to hate him for this. But he had to right a wrong. He couldn’t sit back and pretend that keeping Virgil prisoner out of fear was right.

He unlocked the door before turning the doorknob. He expected the dim lights of the basement to greet him; instead a wall of black awaited him.

-

Terrified didn’t even begin to cover the extent of what Virgil was experiencing at the moment. Time had no meaning as he sat there, pitch black as far as the eyes could see. He stumbled around for a while, attempting to find a light switch or a weapon. Anything heavy he could lob at his hosts turned captors. He gave up after he stumbled over something in the dark and nearly sprained his foot in the process.

Out of all the ways he imagined his life ending, eaten by werewolves was not one of them. Sure, they said they didn’t eat humans. But Virgil didn’t have any reason to trust their words than they were trusting of him. He hoped Roman and Logan choked to death on one of his bones. Patton? Not so much.

He groaned, hitting his head against the post of the stairway leading to the basement door. Of course, Patton and the others happened to be werewolves. It couldn’t have been furries or some illegal gang thing, because apparently the universe hated him.

Virgil couldn’t believe he was saying this, but he missed his cold, lumpy bed. He missed his purple fleece blanket that he draped over himself like a cape. He missed his workplace, manager from hell and all. Anything was better than facing a lifetime stranded in the pit of a basement by three werewolves.

Virgil heard the floor above the basement creak, and his heart started pounding. Any moment now, the door could open. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for that to happen. He was barely holding it together with his trademark sarcasm and self-deprecation.

After all, he spent the whole night lying in a puddle of his own tears. He was so exhausted, but he couldn’t sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, a nightmare awaited him. It was made worse by the fact he didn’t have his regular coping mechanisms. He couldn’t play on his phone or climb up onto his apartment’s rooftop and stare at the light polluted sky. Instead, he started quoting the Black Cauldron, knowing all the lines forwards and backwards.

When that became boring, Virgil switched to singing softly underneath his breath. Virgil wasn’t fond of singing—he grew insecure of it ever since a foster family teased him mercilessly about his voice. But he found nothing really mattered in the black nothingness of the basement.

If the purpose of the basement was to punish him for attempting to escape through sensory deprivation, it was definitely working. He felt like he was floating inside an empty void. Was he really sure that he really existed? Maybe he’d always been here. Just when he started to resign himself to living in complete darkness, the door opened, causing the light of the outside world to flood in.

He hissed, immediately covering his vision from the emergence of bright light. He shoved the hood of his hoodie over his face in an attempt to combat the light. Black spots dotted across his vision as his eyes adjusted to the vision.

“What the?!” The voice muttered, as something clattered to the floor. He heard a flick, and suddenly light shone from up above.

Virgil stayed huddled by the bottom of the stairway, shaking like—well like a leaf. He couldn’t think up a better simile at the moment. With each step the person took closer to him, his breaths grew shallower. Until at last, the person stood in front of him. He could hear their breathing, almost as erratic and noisy as his own.

“L—look, if you’re here to kill me, just get over with it already.” He muttered, his voice hoarse from screaming at the door for a whole hour before giving up.

“Kill you?” The person sucked their breath in, “Oh I’m not here to kill you, I promise!  I might kill Roman, though.”

That did little to reassure Virgil, who shook harder.

“Not for real! Just give him a really stern lecture about leaving you all alone in the basement like this!” The person withheld a sob, “I’m—I’m so sorry, Virgil. I never meant for any of this to happen!”

Virgil knew that voice. He lifted his head, squinting upwards to see Patton standing in front of him. A few feet away was a plate with a sandwich on it. The others must’ve sent him in here to feed Virgil. It seemed they cared enough to make sure Virgil was fed. Or maybe they were feeding him just to fatten him up.

“Go away, I’m not hungry,” Virgil growled, turning his back on Patton.

His stomach growled right after saying that. Traitor.

“Listen, you have every right to be upset,” Patton said, “but I’m here to fix things.”

“With what, a sandwich?” Virgil scoffed but he had to admit the sandwich was starting to look really appealing. He refused to give in that easily, however.

“Well, I figured you should eat something before I get you home.”

“Home?” Virgil looked up at Patton suspiciously.

Patton wrung his hands together, “Yes home! Logan and I talked last night, and we decided it’s wrong to keep you prisoner here, so we’re going to let you go home!”

Virgil rose an eyebrow, “You’re a terrible liar.”

“Darn, you got me kiddo,” Patton shook his head as he sat down beside Virgil, “Logan and Roman don’t know about this—both of them aren’t here at the moment. Look, I mean it when I said I want to fix things. You don’t deserve to be locked up in the basement. You deserve to be at your home with your friends and family.”

Virgil remained quiet for a moment, choosing to ignore that last bit about friends and family.

“Is this a trap?”

“What?” Patton questioned, looking startled by the accusation.

“Last night, I overheard you saying something about wanting me to join the pack, which I’m guessing that meant you wanted me to stay. Well, I’m stuck here!” Virgil did jazz hands, “You got your wish. So why help me escape?”

“This isn’t what I wanted,” Patton repeated his statement from earlier, “I wanted you to have a choice. A pack is all about choice. Roman, Logan and I stick together by choice. I didn’t want you to be forced into staying with us. That’s why I want to help you get home.”

“Won’t Logan and Roman get mad at you when they find me missing?”

“Well I tend to be really forgetful,” Patton smiled precociously, “It wouldn’t be the first time I forgot to lock the basement door.”

“You’ve had other prisoners here before?”

Patton’s eyes flashed with alarm.

“Oh no! That’s not what we use the basement for at all!”

“Then what do you use it for?” Virgil countered, as his eyes scanned the room.

He’d been too busy adjusting to the light to get a good look at the room now that he could see its contents. The basement appeared to be just like any other basement at first. The walls were a plain white with a grey cement floor. It was one gigantic room that ran nearly the entire length of the house. But instead of being stuffed full of storage boxes or being used as a bedroom or an office, it appeared to be something else entirely.

A variety of dog toys were scattered around the premises. Such as a large bone that Virgil was certain was the object he had stumbled over earlier in the dark. A few extra large dog beds were lined up on corner of the room.

“Both Logan and Roman…struggle with their transformations, so it’s safer for them to stay down here when it happens,” Patton explained sheepishly, “That’s why the door locks from the outside.”

“Makes sense I guess,” Virgil muttered before swallowing, “but seriously, won’t they be mad?”

“Oh, most definitely!” Patton hummed cheerfully, “but this is about doing the right thing, and sometimes doing the right thing has its consequences.”

Something flashed across Patton’s face before he covered it up with a smile. There was something the way he muttered that last line as if he’d bore those consequences before, and he wasn’t afraid to face them again. Virgil didn’t know if that type of conviction was foolish or admirable. He couldn’t say if he’d be brave enough in Patton’s shoes.

“You sure about this?” Virgil still asked, mentally berating himself for the question. Here he was, on the cusp of freedom, and still he hesitated. Fear gnawed at his chest. What if the others caught Patton helping him escape? Would they hurt him? Would they decide Virgil wasn’t worth the trouble to keep alive and kill him?

“I’m sure,” Patton reassured him, “Trust me kiddo, I’ll be alright.”

“Okay,” Virgil mumbled as he stood up, “Your funeral, I guess,”

“Hey, I put the fun in funeral!” Patton grinned, “but you should eat that sandwich before we go, kiddo,”

“Fine,” Virgil rolled his eyes, making a show of taking a bite out of the sandwich for Patton’s sake. He clutched it in one hand while he followed Patton out of the basement. Truthfully, he was more grateful for the meal than he let on. Still, he preferred to nibble it, his insides too knotted up for him to truly enjoy the ham and cheese sandwich.

Virgil cautiously glanced around each corner, wary of Roman or Logan popping up unannounced. Patton said that both of them wouldn’t be home for some time, but that did nothing to soothe his nerves. As they made it to the front door, Virgil noticed there wasn’t any cars in the driveway nor did Patton make a move towards the garage. Well, he noticed this right after his eyes were assaulted yet again by sudden bright light.

“Er, sorry!” Patton said upon catching his confused gaze, “It’s not that long of a walk—promise!”

“Okay,” Virgil shrugged as he took another bite of the sandwich.

He didn’t really have a choice in the matter, after all. If there were no cars, then there were no cars. It was either walk or stay imprisoned in the basement forever. Since Virgil wasn’t particularly fond of the latter option, he went with the former.

If Virgil could, he’d run all the way back to his apartment. But he had nowhere near enough stamina to accomplish that. He’d be lucky if he could run ten paces before collapsing. Especially after being bedridden for the past few days. As much as he wanted to be home quick as possible, walking was fine.

Walking was more than fine, in fact. Walking was great because he didn’t have to confine himself in a vehicle. Cars made him nervous. It was why he chose to move to the city where he could reach everything on foot or by train.

Patton and Virgil remained quiet for about half a mile down the road. Patton sung underneath his breath, too soft and low for Virgil to make out discernible words. It sounded like an old lullaby, but he didn’t recognize the melody. Virgil was content to stay a few steps behind him, as he finished eating the last bits of his sandwich.

“Hey Virgil, do you know where your apartment is from here?” Patton said, turning back to glance at him.

“Wait, you don’t know where we’re going?”

“It’s kinda hard to know if you don’t tell me in the first place, kiddo,” Patton laughed.

Shit. Virgil looked around their surroundings, but he’d never came through the city this way before. He was terrible at directions in general. It took Virgil weeks for him to be able to navigate his little slice of the city with ease. His phone was dead, so it wasn’t like he could just plug his address into the GPS app and follow its’ direction. They were screwed.

“Virgil,” Patton said, interrupting Virgil’s inner turmoil. He looked up to see Patton looking down at him with concern, “are you alright?”

“I—I—I just,” Virgil shut his eyes as he breathed deeply, “I don’t know where it is. I mean, I know where it is, I just never been this way before and I—”

Patton squeezed his shoulder, “It’ll be okay, I promise. I won’t leave you until we find it, even if it takes all day.”

“Thanks,” Virgil said, for once using the word for it’s correct usage instead of a sarcastic remark. Such as when he found himself stuck in the pouring rain without an umbrella.

A jingle erupted from Patton’s jeans pocket, causing him to retract his hand from Virgil’s shoulder to retrieve his phone. Virgil embraced himself for the incoming onslaught of bad news. It had to be a text from Logan or Roman about his disappearance from the basement.

However, Patton squealed happily which he took to mean that it was a good sign.

“My egg hatched!” Patton exclaimed, “here look at it! Isn’t it cute?!”

He shoved an image of a rainbow-colored baby dragon in front of Virgil’s face. The dragon rocked back and forth in a cutesy sprite animation.

“Definitely cute,” Virgil readily agreed.

“I know right? I think all the dragons look especially cute when they’re just babies!”

He tapped on the right-hand corner of the screen, giving treats to the baby dragon until it grew into an adolescent form. As Virgil watched over his shoulder, an idea hit him.

“I just realized something,” Virgil said.

“What’s that?” Patton asked, still busily feeding the now happily grown-up dragon.

“We can use the GPS on your phone to help us get to my apartment.”

“What’s a GPS?”

“You don’t know what a GPS is?” Virgil stared at him incredulously.

“Nope, I just use this to talk to Logan and play games!” Patton grinned.

There was a gleam in the man’s eyes that made Virgil unsure if he was completely serious or just pulling his leg. Regardless he held out his hand towards Patton.

“Fine, I’ll just show you it. Can I have a look?”

Patton handed the phone to him without any hesitance. Unlike Virgil, who would’ve sooner broke his phone in half rather than let someone hold it.

Virgil scrolled through the pages of apps on the phone. Patton really wasn’t kidding when he said played a lot of mobile games—dozens of them cluttered the phone. It made him wonder how he had the storage for them until he saw the absence of social media apps on the phone. After about a minute of searching, Virgil finally discovered the Maps app tucked away in a folder.

He clicked on it and turned to look at Patton to give him an explanation when the man’s eyes lit with recognition.

“Oh I know this one!” Patton said, “it’s the game where you put in an address and you have to follow the lady’s directions until you reach the destination!”

“It’s not really a game,” Virgil murmured under his breath as he entered the address into the GPS.

He sighed as he gave the phone back to Patton.

“Alright! It looks like we need to keep going forward for about a mile and then hang a right!”

“Okay,” Virgil said, biting back a groan.

It would be okay—it had to be okay. He just needed to focus on getting back to his normal dumpster fire of a life and he’d be okay. He can manage a mile or two to avoid becoming werewolf chow. He’d suggest taking the subway, but his five-dollar bill certainly wasn’t cover their tickets. Nor was he about to burden Patton any more than he already was doing. Virgil mainly tuned out Patton’s chatter as he focused all his energy in moving forward one step at a time.

The werewolf slowed down to match his pace with Virgil, which meant he was forced to take shorter steps than his usual long strides. It was a subtle gesture that Virgil appreciated. As the owner of short legs, he hated having to quicken his pace to match practically everyone else.

The GPS kept steadily giving out directions in a robotic feminine voice. Occasionally Patton switched the screen from the Maps app to check on one of his mobile games. One of his absolute favorites was the Dragon game. He showed every one of his dragons, explaining their names and history to Virgil.

“This one is named Conan, after the—”

“YOUR DESTINATION IS ON THE LEFT.” The GPS droned, interrupting Patton in the middle of his speech.

Patton and Virgil glanced at one another before staring up at the apartment.

“Well, I guess this is it.” Virgil drew in a shaky breath, before giving a lazy two-fingered salute.

He moved to turn his back away from Patton, when the other pulled him back into a hug. He found himself crushed against Patton’s frame, unable to wiggle away.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve asked before I hugged you!” Patton sniffled as he withdrew from the embrace, “I just—you better be safe out here. Don’t go wandering through dark alleyways by yourself again!”

Patton’s reprimand reminded Virgil of a worried parent trying to sternly reprimand their child. There such a warmness hidden there behind the façade of a severe rebuke. Despite his multiple strings of foster parents, Virgil truly hadn’t heard that from anyone except his own parents. Patton barely knew him, yet he already cared for him in that fashion.

Virgil swallowed a lump in his throat. It didn’t matter. This would hopefully be the last time the two interacted. Patton was just trying to be nice by pretending to be concerned for his safety, that was all.

“Oh, believe me I’m not gonna be stepping foot in an alleyway for a long time.” Virgil said as he ran his hand through his hair.

“Glad to hear it!” Patton forced a chuckle.

The two stood there in front of the apartment, fidgeting, as both scrambled to find words to say. What more could they say, two strangers brought together by the strangest of situations? Goodbye just didn’t seem to cover it.

Patton cleared his throat, “I should head back—”

“Thank you,” Virgil interrupted, his cheeks growing warm, “I mean, I would be dead right now if it wasn’t for you. So um, thank you for saving my life.”

He shoved his hands in his hoodie pocket, groaning inwardly at his awkwardness. Why did he have to make everything worse?

Patton’s eyes grew misty.

“No problem, kiddo,” He whispered, “You take care, okay?”

“I’ll try.” Virgil shrugged before entering the apartment building.

As he entered the lobby, a wave of exhaustion hit him. It felt like decades since he last roamed the premises of the apartment. He was thankful not for the first time that his apartment possessed an elevator. He didn’t think he could take ten flights of stairs at the moment. He nearly collapsed in the elevator as it was.

He was sure he looked like a zombie to his floor neighbors as he made his way to his apartment. But again, it wouldn’t be the first time. Nate, one of said-neighbors, called out a greeting to him but Virgil strolled past without returning it.

He fumbled for his key when he reached his door, before sliding it into the keyhole. As he opened the door, he was greeted to the site of a trashed-up apartment. Same old, same old. Music roared from one of the bedrooms letting him know that his roommate was home.

“Jerad,” He croaked out, “What is this mess?”

“Oh hey dude!” His roommate popped his head out from his bedroom, “I was wondering if you skipped town or something!”

He could tell from Jerad’s stupid goofy looking smile that he was drunk. His roommate tended to be a volatile drunk. It was hard to gauge when he’d grow from happy to angry because it happened within a heartbeat.

“Nope,” Virgil said, “Look it’s a long story and I’m tired and I’ll probably have to explain things to you in the morning again anyways. Just, why this?”

He gestured vaguely towards the state of the living room, with the numerous beer bottles and broken lamp and the couch torn apart.

“I had a party,” Jerad said, taking a swig from something that was definitely not water.

“Of course, you did,” Virgil let out a frustrated groan. He did not have the mental capacity to deal with this.

“I thought we agreed at the renewal of the lease that’d there would be no parties?”

“Well, that was before yOU DECIDED TO SKIP TOWN!” He yelled, throwing his drink down on the floor in a fit of rage.

Virgil winced, holding his hands up. He learned the hard way before that there was no reasoning with Jerad when he was like this.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, alright?”

Jerad studied his face before breaking into a smile.

“You better not, buddy!” He laughed, slapping Virgil on the back as he staggered towards the kitchen. His previous cup laid on the carpet, abandoned.

“I—I won’t. I’m just gonna go to my room now.”

When his roommate didn’t say anything, Virgil let out the breath he was holding and darted to his room as quick as he could. He locked the door, flung onto his bed and pulled the purple fleece blanket over his head. Underneath the blanket he attempted to control his breathing.

Tomorrow he’d have to figure out a way to cover his share of the rent. Tomorrow he’d have to come up with a story to explain his disappearance to Jerad. Tomorrow he’d wonder if he really spent time in a house full of werewolves.

But today wasn’t tomorrow just yet. As much as he was prone to lying in bed and anxiously weighing out his dilemmas, it didn’t happen tonight. Nestled in the comfort of his own bed, he drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

* * *

 

(Another Amazing Piece done by [finiteframe3](https://finiteframe3.tumblr.com/post/177415438115/my-ts-big-bang-art-based-on-the-amazing-story) on Tumblr)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus concludes Crescent, part 1 of the Howl AU. Gibbous, part 2, will be posted once I finish posting Crescent on my Tumblr. I'm posting Crescent there biweekly so I'll see you guys sometime in October! Thank you so much for reading, and let me know what you think of the fic in the comments below! <3


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